Like some alcoholics who are periodic drunkards, I let my passion for paint run freely for the time being. The needle goes cold in these periods, but never mind, it will be picked up when the time has come. You may have wondered (if you saw the series I showed as a guest blogger on Rayna Gillman's blog) why I work mostly on black. Does this show that I'm in a critical phase of life or depressive? Well, I started painting on black when I was 3 years old and had my first paintbox. My access to black was positive. It provided the perfect background for dreams, it gave an amazig brillance to my favourite colors . 
The color cups in my paint box containing yellow, white and light green were the first to be empty. My mother generously provided a new color box, everytime one was up -- and they did not last long. I remember how thrilled I was when I received a larger paintbox with names of the colors for my 8th birthday! Indian yellow, raw umber, turquoise -- only apple pancakes could have pleased me more.
The color cups in my paint box containing yellow, white and light green were the first to be empty. My mother generously provided a new color box, everytime one was up -- and they did not last long. I remember how thrilled I was when I received a larger paintbox with names of the colors for my 8th birthday! Indian yellow, raw umber, turquoise -- only apple pancakes could have pleased me more.
Painting on a black backgroud, you can make something rise ever so softly out of the dark, whereas on white it is in the limelight right away. I love the process of letting something secretly emerge from the depth of space, just like dreams and thoughts do.
