A quail. Stuck in a hole. Without ideas.
I have been thinking a bit about that famous, apocryphal maybe, Franz Kline line about painting being like having your hands tied inside of a mattress. Not that I am that angst ridden, but I have been trying to think of ways to turn over what painters (okay, okay...ME!) think of themselves; the self-flagellation , angst, sturm, and drang of it all.