At some earlier date that is not this date, I felt an urgency to talk about—write about, I am not talking, I am writing—mark-making. I wonder what I would have said? I do not feel that urgency today, and so there are no words pursuant to mark-making pressing up in my throat toward my tongue. It has just become apparent to me, as I examined the accuracy of the preceding description of the trajectory of words, that when I write, I whisper the words as I write them, I do not know if I knew that I did this before now, but now I know that I do this. In this case, in the whispering case, the words don't always leave the tongue, there is no great propulsive force that pushes them out (although all P's get pushed out, it seems), and then I am left with a mouthful of words, none of which begin with P. If I did want to talk about mark-making, I would tell you that— But I do not want to, I have nothing cogent to say about it on this date. I don't even know what "mark-making" means, I could not tell you anything meaningful about the difference between figurative and abstract mark-making, although anything that can be said about mark-making will be addressed from the standpoint of that dichotomy, when and if I ever feel that urgency again. I should not say "if," of course I will!, it is a fascinating topic when one is fascinated by it. Today, I will practice mark-making, but only dumbly, I will not know why I am doing it—well, I do know why I do it, I'm a painter, that's why—I mean to say, there will not be any intellect behind the podium telling me about the significance of what I am doing, of what my mark-making means in light of the fact that I am working on a painting that is trying its level best to avoid figuration (but has already failed). Are you still with me—really?