Dead and dying flowers

Why paint? why not paint? I feel that what I do needs to be purposeful – have some meaning that justifies it. On the other hand, painting makes my mouth water; reason enough perhaps. As a student at Ipswich I had a lecturer named Lawrence Self. He would occasionally show us slides of his work. His work was very tactile. I would go away from his shows itching to paint. (I wish I had told him) This feeling that I am 'indulging' in a pointless pursuit is somehow a millstone around my neck;pleasure accompanied by guilt is no real pleasure. Even as I type these words I see the nature of my problem in that I try to intellectualise what is not an intellectual pursuit, albeit an intelligent one. In my teaching I used the notion of 'feeling with the eyes' to point to the business of drawing. Such acts can only be trusted; they cannot be explained. I have had a break from my work in recent weeks. My work is in the SHED and I feel a need to get back to the physicality of drawing I met a man through my exhibition (he was the previous exhibitor at the gallery) named Henry whose work was a breath of fresh air. Utterly without pretension, it was plain naive statement, untutored and unselfconscious. If ever there was a guru, it is Henry. He wrote poetry also.