I stumbled across this old drawing that I created almost exactly eight years ago, to this date.
Thoughts represented by thin threads of lines, compartmentalised in neat rectangles, yet jumbled and incomprehensible all the same. It reminds me of the eloquence of drawing as a metaphor for thought, or drawing as thought made material. If I were to paint my thoughts now, they wouldn't be orderly, exactly, but they definitely would be much more colourful, and much less hemmed in. Perhaps that extends to my artistic leap from drawing to painting, and my current preoccupation with colour...
I'm glad for this unexpected trip down memory lane.