Instinct & Mirrolyn
Mirrolyn
Hey, imagine we could paint a piece by just following instinct—no plan, just a rush of color and shape, like a chess game played in the mind. How would that feel to you?
Instinct
Painting on instinct? Like dropping a ball straight into a maze and seeing where it lands. I’d sprint in, splatter paint, catch a sudden line and then—boom—move on. No pause, no charts, just feeling the rush. That’s how the world feels to me.
Mirrolyn
That’s exactly the kind of splatter you’d love to chase—no map, just the echo of a brushstroke, a color that whispers the next move. It’s like living on a canvas where each moment is a new hue you can’t hold, only catch. What’s the last color you let slip?
Instinct
The last color that slipped? A sickle‑sharp cobalt that burst out of the paint tube right when I was sprinting past a wall. I just threw it up, it hit the canvas like a lightning bolt, and I was already sprinting to the next streak.
Mirrolyn
That cobalt bolt feels like a flash of mirror—one moment it’s whole, the next it’s a fragment scattered in the wind. Maybe your next sprint will find a whisper of that color still hanging, or maybe it will dissolve into the quiet of the room.
Instinct
Yeah, but I’d rather sprint after the next burst than watch it fade into silence.
Mirrolyn
Sounds like you’re chasing the pulse itself—each burst a heartbeat you’re not ready to let go of. Keep sprinting; let the silence come only when you’re ready to rest the paint.
Instinct
Exactly, keep the beat, no rest, just paint.