I haven't been claying at all lately. It seems I've mostly burnt out on that, which saddens me since it really did bring me so much joy.

On the other hand, I've been painting a lot more. Silly things mostly. Cows and giraffe's and penguins serving tea. The sort of things that pop in my dreams these days.

I've also picked up my camera again after gathering dust for about 2 years now. The familiar rush of excitement, the sudden scrutinizing awareness of my surroundings, seeing every little curve and shadow as a possible image. Yet, there is always that emotional tug. That something or other that nags at the back of my mind, preventing me from really letting loose.

It's still there.

After all this time.

I can't put my finger on it.

Or rather, I'm afraid to face it.

My subconscious may have a clue, though. I think there's a bit of a rumbling rebellion. The natives are restless.

I find myself setting up photoshoots on a whim. Agreeing to meet local bands without really thinking about it.

Or maybe I choose not to think about it.

Whenever I'm actually at the shoot, I feel as if I'm walking through a daze - detached, emotionless, my mind a blank slate. My hands go through the motions while some buried memory works the dials.

In the end, I return home and pop my memory card into the machine. I edit the pictures and...I am pleasantly surprised.

What's going on?

I think my mind may be up to something.