I object to the texture of the paper. Your image feels velvety, like deep charcoal on a smooth surface, my interpretation has too much roughness. (I'm not sure why other's call this watercolor paper good quality. At the moment I had no other.)
In the image I feel within, within your run, your breath connected to the blue atmosphere surrounding you.
I use all the 'left-over' blue from the last session to re-cover the surface.
I'm interrupted by "mom"...
and a reminder by husband of laundry sitting in the washer.
I'm aware of the symmetry, of my own symmetry. I use brushes in both hands and lose myself in the woods. The two points of brushes guide one another.
It is not just to do with the painting of it anymore. It is this dialogue. (Need to get lost in your space. Scale of work therefore has to be larger for me to lose myself into.)