Sketch for a quilt I won't make #4 Painting

A continent, an island, the cloudy sea, a fragment of sky, a trace of oil left by a boat in the river, poured milk on the coffee, an uncertain landscape. The canvases dripping off their frames. The hardest of lines, the most subtle of the gradients An invisible grid that determines a future structure. Very watery layers of paint that are juxtaposed. What is behind comes to the front. The hardness against the softness as cold metal against a feverish skin. The painful discovery of pleasure in an empty image. There is nothing like loose fabric to swaddle a tight form. It contains trails of drippings, cold stains, gentle brushstrokes. Patterns flow towards the retina and become rejected and absorbed once again. Shape vacillates between fluid and static, pristine and dirty. Signs left by the working hand are visible The hand as a collector, brings everything in and let it sinks, allowing the body to meet the mood of matter.