Though not seen in the picture, the table was in front of us. Look at my busy, blurry hands.
Watching this reminds me of my own early experiences with painting. GramGram (my paternal grandmother) would cover her table in newsprint and then give me a cup of water with a paintbrush. I would start at one end of her table and (according to her) work my way to the other side. By the time I got to the other end, the places I had first painted were dry and I'd work my way across again. And again. And again. Sometimes I flooded. Sometimes I "flourished"...at least I think I must have. My brush stroke has a strong natural pull that must have started somewhere. Color was not introduced to this process until I was quite a bit older. Thank you, GramGram for instinctively knowing what I needed.