I want to board a plane and go somewhere I haven’t yet been. I want to write words on a page or smash them out on a keyboard – I ain’t fussy. I want to jump on the train to Melbourne and go find new paper. I want to draw a new series; tuck my words and thoughts and feelings safely under bits bark, in skin folds, tumbling hair. I want to forgive and forget and be a new person and be finally rid of the old one. I want to draw, draw, draw until I have to be peeled away to wash and be reminded to eat. I want to steam and flatten out meters of paper without tearing or marking it, I’d have a good six months out of a piece that size – then I’d have an anchor.
I want to know and I just want to very much understand – but failing that, I just want to draw.