That dank blank-canvas dawn

...from "The Conundrum of the Workshops" by Rudyard Kipling struck me this morning as I stared at the still blank canvas. I've always wondered if this staring is part of the art and if some day it will be the art itself. A foolish notion perhaps, but lately it seems this period of blankness has been gaining a lot of weight. I'm convinced it somehow corresponds with Alice Notley's caves in Disobedience. Perhaps Notley's "walls of blank rock behind panes of glass" are the very same walls that have always stood between me and the canvas. Perhaps one day the walls will come to light.