/lit/ - Literature

I have two modes of expression, writing and painting, each with which I become totally identified with as I switch back and forth from one to other, left awash for weeks on end on either plateau, one inaccessible to the other. When painting, the medium totally dominates my imagination. At night I dream symbolically. When painting exhausts me, reading and writing takes its place, and visual contour becomes background to verbal thoughts, and one mode is always ignorant of the other. One hand knows not what the other is doing. The transition period, as it starts to tremble on nights like tonight, if filled with dread. The bicameral split suddenly springs into awareness, and I notice all the paintings around me, for which I have no account. My latest painting sits on my easel, not having noticed it since last week, and believe it or not I have no recollection of painting it. I vaguely remember dashing the cadmium yellow highlight behind her shoulder, but otherwise it is strange to me. Even my signature, in the upper corner, seems different than how I normally sign my paintings. It is large, and I am quite pleased with it.
Then, I will abandon writing and all notice of verbose thoughts for probably a month. This would cause some alarm except that I know bipolar diagnoses are quite rare at my advanced age.

Any of you like Modigliani?