Left to their own devices, paints will do what they choose to do and the paintee becomes the token (armed) presence to carry the bit of wood with bristle, in hand, and the pigment and all those parts heretofore mentioned, are directed toward, and get laid out on, the canvas in some kind of manner unfolding.
Now, yes, something out there and in here is pulling this off.
There’s some surrendering and impulse involved. But the formula has remained elusive to me. And starting out to paint a blue flower on an empty canvas that turned into a blue bird looking up and zeroing in on the moon, and the whirry heart/wing beat of the two joining fellows, the hummers, and the drooping bright fuscia and the twisted green leaf and vine and twig…well, I have no idea where it came from but here it is.