I sometimes find it hard to write because I'm a poet, and so I judge anything I write with a critical eye, even stuff like shopping lists and diary outpourings meant for my eyes only. I needed a new, uncritical mode of self-expression.
I told a friend about the urge and the next time I saw him, he gave me a set of acrylic paints. Everyone needs a friend like this. Being well-brought up, I had no choice then but to respond to his kindness by going to buy some canvasses and brushes.
My first attempt involved painting my inner darkness. It turns out that my inner darkness is a sludge-greeny-brown colour. Halfway through, sick of brown, I got out the orange, and, enjoying its orangey-ness more than expected, ended up looking at the work of my inner 5-year old half an hour later.
I sent a photo of the painting to my friend by way of a thank you letter: