Dead and dying flowers

Having potentially dug a hole for myself re thinking and doing, I have been trying to explore what it means for me. Paintings and drawing are somehow approached elliptically. Their making is achieved through a discrete approach, an almost pretending that they are not being made so that they have no idea. I know what I intend to do, with regard in these to flat colour and line. The minute by minute engagement in working sustains a sense of purpose that might not be justified in the end. In this regard, an ongoing anxiety ensures focus. A sense of apprehension can be followed by pleasant surprise, uncertainty, or disappointment in the result. In an age of the brief and research I don’t know if I am alone in feeling that to just ‘do’ seems to somehow fall short. But whilst there seems no reason, there remains sufficient suspicion of purposefulness over time to keep asking the question.