Messes Made in the Name of Art

I am not a 'planner' by nature. I do not approach art-making from a conceptual perspective, rather I let an idea cook in my subconscious until my tiny (figurative) oven-timer goes off: *DING*! I then maniacally spew forth a plethora of ideas and emotions in a relatively short period of time.
I have never been a devoted keeper of journals; ever since the privacy of "My Diary" was breeched at the tender age of ten by two of my brother's friends (oh, the mortification!) who cackled and hooted at my bad poetry and adolescent ramblings, I have been hesitant to articulate my true feelings to paper. Funny how times have changed. Reality TV and the internet have forever metamorphosed humankind's approach to privacy. I'm sure that somewhere on "Google Earth", there's a picture of me scratching my rear-end whilst wearing a torn T-shirt and aged knickers.
Therefore, imagine my surprise that my rather organic, higgelty-piggelty approach to creativity has led me in this direction. Normally a textile artist, I have decided to work with a paper a little and see what happens. Well, a mess for one thing.....but also, I have always believed that trying things with many different techniques can tap into something important and useful.