Sitting on my Desk

Sitting on my desk for some time has been a piece of watercolor paper with some patterns of masking fluid applied long ago. So many aspects of the paper felt wrong: the size of the paper; the placement of what I didn’t want on it; the reason for even starting the piece; all of it. For some reason however I couldn’t get myself to throw it out. It moved from pile to pile and back again. I grabbed the four most recent bottles of ink I had just purchased, never intended to be used as a palette together, and starting playing. I hated every minute of it. Not sure why. The awkward color choices, the distractions all around me as I tried to focus, the weeks events, whatever, I wasn’t feeling it. I rubbed the masking fluid off and was finally ready to  give the paper a better home. The next day, sitting on my desk the first comment it received was “Puerto Rico?” I looked down and realized it was. A little bit of a mess, but something about it was Puerto Rico. I guess I was feeling it more than I realized.—Dominick

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