And he’s right, sometimes it seems like I could write an entire novel about one picture, when one sees the infinite meaning in capturing the moment and the inspiration seems to be everywhere you look.

When the silver morning mist covers the meadow… a wonderful morning is, in fact, as wonderful as any other. I’m already standing by the easel, and the phone starts ringing or somebody knocking at the door. I try to memorize my last thoughts and unwillingly answer the phone or open the door. And whatever I just tried to memorize is gone. Creativity needs loneliness. Needs concentration without interruptions. You need to dive into the endless sea of thoughts until you build a bridge which you can lean against, again and again. A bridge where you can just walk, chew pencils, write, delete, write again, and start over.

Also often, if not more often, I interrupt myself. More precisely, that other “I” who whistles and beats inside with something important to say — that there’s no butter left in the fridge or it’s my nephew’s birthday in a few weeks’ time. Of course I react! I get back to work, and the last thoughts have already dissipated along with the fog.

Back to building the bridge again.