The further it gets, the more everything I perceive is influenced by the ability to generate new ideas and change things, for better or worse.
It is a heavenly bliss to draw or just hold a pencil between fingers, yet paradoxically after finishing a bigger piece there is always this sad feeling of never doing it again. But then suddenly a sketching begins without any particular conscious notice, just because. And, as one sketchbook entry says, it is either madness or emptiness („Tuštuma arba beprotybė“). Basically with not much else in between.
From the road, or a walk, or while listening to favorite music, or after reading a great book... Really got into Edgar Allan Poe right now, especially poems... oh, and this:
I want it to snow.