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I have come through a dry spell of sorts. A rebellion against talent or small child throwing a tantrum.
The last months have produced mediocre pieces...consistently bad in my oppion...so like a small child I packed up my paints and went home....I didn't want to play anymore.
After several weeks rebellion I could take it no longer and have begun to paint again. My desire out weighed the small child in me.

I find nothing more intimidating then blank paper...taunting you from its smug nothingness. The first stroke is always the hardest and after that first stroke a sense of desperation sets in to save the poor thing. Then a point of "not bad" is reached where you have almost done the thing and it has become worthy of your interest and time...but the end nears...and the fear creeps back in...and your mind screams DON'T SCREW IT UP . Think of all the time and work you will waste with only one misplaced stroke on paper. When all is said and done it is the Desperation of Creation.