I am at Granville, where even the litter is arty: confetti like colourful dust collects in the corners, the remains of a recent carnival. I snatch 45 minutes to paint on the beach. When the light is nice and the place is alive I don't really mind what colours think about lines, just let it happen. And indeed something is happening. I feel more sensitive, perceptually, from my work on the page, able to make more subtle distinctions as I look about myself. And something else. I don't know if it is me or if there is an actual atmospheric effect to the day, but I sense the world becoming more painterly. I haven't felt like this in some time. It reminds me of tripping, makes me think of creation, feel like I'm witnessing it.