One day, the writer was overwhelmed by the urge to paint again. He recognized in himself the desire that had been gagged and throttled, but never killed; he had stumbled upon the painter whom he had left for dead. He walked into a stationary shop, bought two bags of paints and pencils, and began to fill two dozen notebooks. His hand seemed to move of its own accord. One day it drew, the next day it wrote, “like someone autographing a page without even realizing they’re doing it.” 

– Orhan Pamuk

Collapse to the urge. Pull out the graphite. Pull out the pens. Pull out the paints.

Go!

from:

https://www.vqronline.org/fall-2024/art-portfolios/memories-distant-mountains

h/t – https://x.com/nabeelqu