I am finally getting some time in my studio. What with moving and re-moving and not being able to locate anything (including both art materials and my art-making brain) there has been no time for Bob or me to actually make art. I suppose the irony here is that I've always maintained that if I never made another piece of art, I'd have plenty to show for the next hundred years. Ha! I had the opportunity to show four times this winter thereby proved my point... but it didn't make not producing any new work any easier. And exactly why is it that the very things we love to do and NEED to do (for mental and spiritual hygiene) are always the things that get shunted to the side in favor of questionable activities like paying bills and going to work?
So it is with trembling hands and twitching facial features (and what the hell! throw in the occasional bead of spittle flying from my lips) that I try and martial my spiritual forces, line all my muses up in a row and get to work. Looks awful, feels great.
How's that for an unappealing portrait of the artist as as middle-aged crank?
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