A friend’s question startled and disturbed me. Am I painting? Such a painful, simple thing, but NO. Today I pulled the boxes of acrylic paints out of the back of the closet they have been stored in since converting the studio to living space, and clearing out the studio kitchen for actually cooking.
Memories of old projects come bubbling up, break, float away. It has been a very long time since I did any painting, except for bookshelves, satisfying as that may be. I am heading out now to a calligraphy class with my old crew at the Albany Community Center? Since the Adult School shut down. This is the building where we had a show that I displayed the Wisdom of the Elders piece.
So, all my inks are still in the same place they have been for these last two years or so. Clearly, this is something I always meant to take up again. And the same hand, Chancery Cursive, that I enjoyed so much in my first hand-bound journal back in 2009-10.
Now I am confused, music and art have commingled in this blog. How much multi-tasking can I take? Away this weekend in the Westfalia to HellyBerry, hoping I can pull out some six to eight tubes of acrylic paint and a canvas panel to plein air the mothrerfusker. What color will the sky be? Warm blue, or cool? And a couple of brushes will probably help. It’s hard to tell what I have uploaded in the past, but here is an old acrylic painting done on panel, from Diaz Lake in the Eastern Sierras, mostly from a photograph, circa 2000 or earlier. This is the back of the Inyo mountain range in the “After the Meteors” watercolor of 1998.
my home of 20+ years is in jeopardy, my landlord is a junkie vampire
I wonder if the desperation of death attracts positive energy. Not death, really, just an inability to generate the funds to continue, loss of interest bordering on sickness. A few people emerge from the woodwork, perhaps to help, perhaps to feed on the carcass? Or possibly, hospice workers to help release the soul. Release! New ideas emerging, not the least of which is just giving up and getting out. Previous threats to chew my leg off were possibly not sufficiently plaintive . . . and now I have a numb spot on my left calf. I’ve made so much progress, so few photographs of what has changed, it looks bleak from inside my head. What’s going on out there?
I made several screens of found images that I haven’t fully utilized. I enlarged a bubblegum card photo of The Beatles in Key West and lettering composed to fit, hope to make a t-shirt as a Christmas gift. Plus some of my own pen-and-ink drawings from college, when I did such things. Screens ok, prints, not so much clear sometimes on what I want to do with them. This mask from a drawing I did in 1985 turned out to be Steve’s favorite shirt.