“Are you happy with it?” she asked.
“I mean, yea.” But I was going to hedge. “Although I have no idea what I’d do if I make another one.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll come up with something good.”
And she was probably right, a balm against the anxiety of unexpected influence and pressure of how this would become a past I’d be working against. We’d worked on it together, and that had made all of the difference.
I had been looking at with surprise, at how well it had worked out just limiting it to the one color.
And perplexed and surprised by how I’d ended up with all that negative space, influenced — I think — by the Magritte confusions of day and night: