A million things.

I want to apply for some grants. I always get stumped when it comes to listing references. Painting takes a long time. I always forget how long it takes. Sometimes I think my love of solitude lends itself more to being a writer, but I say that out of ignorance. My writing would sound like my blog. Yawn. I have one more week of teaching and then thank god, a commission begins. I am suspicious that life really is like Harold and the Purple Crayon. I should have been more fearless. I am a late bloomer and a slow learner. There is still time to be fearless. I have this crazy idea about what a working artist life is like. It involves a housekeeper and a work/love live space out of dwell magazine. Yeah, that, too. It’s time to write the 2009/2010 version of my artist statement. Sometimes I think I’m totally nuts for threatening not to paint large anymore and basing my life around making 7” x 5” paintings. I just realized there’s a correlation to this and illuminated manuscripts. Or not. I’m still thinking about what somebody said to me regarding how lackadaisical they perceived me to be with regard to certain situations. It’s true. I’m an under-achiever. No matter how bad I want something, I usually find a way to lay low. Excuses. I should probably consider dating again. I never actually dated when I was single, so not sure how that’s going to pan out. Everyone in LA is 10 years younger than me. Everyone. Not kidding. Makes sense because everyone in Chicago was 10 years younger than me. I have a new conspiracy theory. I’m still thinking about what somebody said to me regarding how lackadaisical they perceived me to be with regard to certain situations. Damn, that’s 3 situations now. I like driving the Z3. I just ordered a car cover for it. Sometimes this makes me sad because the car outlived my marriage. Gotta love German engineering. I need to write another artist statement. I’m most certain it will sound way too intimate to be an artist statement. It’s quite possible the car will be an integral part of my statement. I felt very pleased that when I conducted the workshop last weekend, all my materials and canvases fit in the car. Efficient, very. Oh God, what if I can't paint after all. It's all a hoax. I worry a lot. What, me worry? Fang peed in the house today while I was at work. He never does that, unless the yard people are here to cut the grass and he didn’t pee enough before they got here. Maybe I don't worry, after all. I worry about dumb stuff. I have to take pictures, good ones, using a tripod, of the new paintings. Titles, dammit, titles. I’m tired. I’m almost finished with paperwork. I’ve never procrastinated on something like this, ever. Really. It's at the point where I’m making myself enter one line every day. I hate that paperwork. I’m so grateful I have my art. I can’t believe I’ve actually made 18 22 paintings in the studio this past year. I can’t believe it’s almost August. Painting has saved my ass and I'm going to bed.