I just spent way too long wondering whether to colour the door frame of Roya’s bedroom a slightly paler shade of white, or leave it as it is. I’m reminded of a scene from the movie Juno, in which the adoptive mother mulls over the colour of paint for the baby’s bedroom. Her husband looks nonplussed. As for me, I tried painting Roya’s bedroom door frame on its own layer, still wasn’t sure, so didn’t merge it. After a while, and several days, I was annoyed by this extra layer, because failure to COMMIT leads to a million and one layers, each with no more than three strokes on them.

This is both the beauty and the bastard of digital painting.

Perhaps I need to go and paint on a big expensive canvas again, to remind myself that in the real world, we don’t have the luxury of turning strokes of paint on and off again.

An alternative to pulling out the tubes of acrylics is to remind myself — periodically — that sometimes NOBODY ACTUALLY CARES except me. If I can’t decide whether a stroke of colour looks better or worse, it probably looks neither better nor worse, it probably looks EXACTLY THE SAME, so let’s move on.

Moving on.