It is nine in the morning and I am in my studio ready to start my day like a proper working stiff. I smile at the thought, grab a couple of breakfast cookies, my tea and have a look at my latest work in progress on the floor before me.

I am committed to this eight foot painting on paper as there are more than a few layers set down in motion. I hover over the long paper and figure out where to put my first strategic mark of the day.

I focus on the edges of the piece. The inky charcoal and water create loose drips that scurry across the page. White paint hurries to fill in the gaps. Thirty minutes of broad strokes and a fevered pitch and I realize I have to take a break to let things settle and dry.

I sit in the studio stairwell and look through the railing at the work, when I see her. A figure, an apparition moves out of the background and takes the stage in my painting. I see her skeletal neck, her shoulder and I see all the ways I could bring her forward and all the ways I could destroy her.

Who is this ghost? Is it me? Perhaps it is a type of dark angel that has come to give me a message.

I am at a crossroads so I decide to follow her for awhile. I actualize her figure and then I know she has taken me as far as I care to go.

I spray water and I use paint. I cover her with paper, prostrating myself on hands and knees to carry away her likeness in the absorbent paper. Yet, she still remains.

But not for long...