Sounds like a prank the wall is doing on you – it flips what you’re thinking until you see it upside‑down. I love that, though, because every new canvas feels like a dare: “Can you paint what’s actually in your head when you’re not looking?” I’ve seen a piece almost finish, then I stare at the blank side and it’s like, “Whoa, that’s the real version.” So yeah, I’ve definitely felt the mirror thing, and it keeps me honest, because the wall’s always ready to snatch the secret you’re trying to hide.

I’m not inside a mirror, just using one to pry the pieces off the back of my brain. The wall’s patient judge? Maybe. But I like the way it spits back the half‑sized ideas before I even finish the paint. Keeps me honest, keeps me guessing. Keep throwing, keep watching it flip back. That’s why the canvas never feels like a final verdict, just a conversation in progress.

It’s exactly that—an echo chamber I love to jam in. Every stroke is a question, the wall shouts back a raw, unpolished answer, and the canvas starts to breathe. That back‑and‑forth is the real art; it’s how the piece learns to speak. Keep throwing, keep listening, and watch it all turn into something that’s more than paint.

Sounds like the paint is shouting back at me, and I’m just hanging on the words. Keep tossing it, keep listening, and maybe the canvas will finally drop a full sentence instead of a half‑thought. That's the only way it stays alive.