The miniaturesque work with my six cornered oil goes on, filling the mauve field with a desolate Northern landscape/seascape/icescape -- with a cabin or hut of sorts -- and the yellow field with a slightly careless interior.
Everything is improvised. The little cabin (which didn't want to be a pine grove or cliff) reminds me of a song by Swedish poet Dan Andersson about a charcoal burner who is waiting for his one true love that, rest assured, should show up some night here in the middle of nowhere just any year now, this dearest lady with eyes of blue. Whoever she is. (The subtext is rather saddening, dark as charcoal soot.)
Onwards. I didn't care much for straight angles in the yellow field. I sort of wanted to get done. With these two fields of relative harmony done after the lively green and blue and the quizzical (and inquisitive) grey centre we might now be ready for something really insane.