Paint and the Self

I’ve been in the Lake District all week, out walking in the hills every day, letting the richness of the landscape wash through me. The colours, the drama of ‘the Sublime’, the light (sun every single day!), but most of all it’s the textures that feed me. Mosses and lichens and rocks and glittering water. And never once do I feel that I want to ‘paint it’, or make any other kind of artwork around it. I often wonder why it is that for me, the urge to make art is so very particular in its focus. Am I unconsciously restricting myself, damming up some of the channels of creativity in favour of the one that primarily addresses the human form, and does so primarily in paint?