Lollygagging for a day.

I spent the day lollygagging and shooting the breeze. Most of it was pleasant, though there was one unsettling occurrence. That’s the best word I can come up with for now. Nothing tragic or seriously disturbing, just odd. Not quite square peg in a round hole kind of odd, but odd enough that I’m still obsessing on how odd and I still don’t know what to make of it. Art World politics and decorum are not my strong suit, and possibly because of this, I try to be peripheral. I know it must sound strange to want to be marginal in a place where everyone is hoping to stand out and be #1, but when all is said and done, I’d rather be content with what I’ve done, rather than worrying about what other people thought or what kind of mark I should have been making. Not very playerish of me to fes that. I have no idea what it would be like NOT to have art be such a major part or THE focus of my life, (Well actually I do, there was a period where martinis and manhattans were a major focus, but I digress.) and yet, on occasion, I've been able to have meaningful conversations with a few select people about something other than art.

I so need a vacation. [refrain]

Yesterday was the last day of the semester. Yay! Tough 6 weeks, but they pulled through. I still have to calculate grades, hence today’s agenda of lollygagging. I did however spend time answering a former student’s email and was quite touched by the fact that he had sought out my response to a project he did for a design class he just completed. I won’t go into detail, but apparently he had caught quite a bit of flack from some “left-brain engineers” as he politely put it, about his choices, both conceptually and aesthetically, and he wanted to know my opinion. He sent me a jpeg, outlined the project and told me his rationale for what he did. I was happy to reply.

Usually I wait until the end of the semester to show images of my work. This semester, I did not offer that up at all. It seemed like a lost cause. I had a student this semester who told me she couldn’t see the still life because she had gotten tired and decided to draw slumped over with her head propped up on her elbow. A vortex of apathy, I tell you.

I so need a vacation. [refrain]

I have an appointment with the divorce lawyer next week. I cannot believe how long I’ve dragged this out due to mere procrastination. I have let moss grow on that part of my life. Change must be the answer.

I so need a vacation. [refrain]

Oh and I hate to spoil this, but if you’re hooked on "The Wire" and have not finished the series, turn away now.

Omar is dead. I thought I would be way more crushed when it happened. Of course I knew it was coming, and there was even a moment of foreshadowing that made it obvious how it would play out, but still, I imagined I’d feel the same way I did when Wild Bill got offed in Deadwood. I swore I wouldn’t continue watching the series. I did of course. And even when they show Omar in a body bag in the morgue, I had a moment of suspended disbelief in hopes his eyes would open and he'd wake up, only to realize it was “The Wire” after all, not “Lost” or “3o Days of Night.”

I so need a vacation. [refrain]

Is it just me or should I worry?

Seriously. I suddenly noticed that my palette and the amount of detail was reminding me of a certain artist who's work is a tad idyllic for me. Perhaps it's just me, but I'm still concerned.

And totally unrelated, On my way out the door, I fell off my clogs as I was taking the garbage out to the street and twisted my foot something awful. Owie. I didn't have time to apply the RICE treatment (rest, ice, compress, elevate) and now I'm limping around class, my foot is swollen and it hurts. Argh.

8 days worth of things.

I don’t consider myself a compulsive blogger, but on the other hand, it’s like checking the mail, it’s just something I feel obligated to do every day even when I know for a fact that Thursday is junk mail day. That said, I refrain from telling you how often I brush my teeth, or how there were maggots in my kitchen compost bin. I try; TRY to keep it roughly centered on art and the next concentric circle or two out from that, but sometimes I wonder how many posts about picking up a paintbrush and gushing about how much I love my new work people care to read about.

Today:
Today is the next to last day of the intensive drawing session. Their final project is a modern day vanitas or self-portrait using meaningful objects. The students that did their research felt that vanitas were really depressing. I felt it rather depressing that for 90% of my class, iPods were meaningful. Actually the depressing part was that technology is so cold and yet they were trying to represent their love of music or family by using technological things. (Note: STBX had my 2nd gen iPod etched with a few lines of our marriage vows, so I’m able to comprehend a connection between sentimentality and technology, lest you think I’m a some kind of Luddite.)

Yesterday:
I called my mom (affectionately referred to as Maryadd Sr.) to wish her a Happy Birthday. 86 years on this planet. She'd kill me if she knew I publicized that.

Showed up a couple hours early to begin grading portfolios before class. Forgot to bring sweater. The tuner or amp is finally shot to hell- every station was static. I played Stan Getz, Boards of Canada and Calexico on my laptop. Came home, made pasta with sundried tomatoes. No movies at home, too tired to read, decided to turn on TV. Can’t believe I’m going to say this in public, I stared at The Bachelorette. I spent most of the time noticing the guy’s shoes. Thank God she picked the guy who wore black shoes. The guy who wore white shoes would have cheated on her. I’m certain. Note to the pointy brown shoe guy- sorry, dude, but nice abs do not make up for pointy brown shoes. I felt they milked the sunset filter just a bit much and I couldn’t believe the dialogue for the entire show was various renditions of, “I have to make a decision. I really love him/her. I think I’ve made the right decision. This is so hard.” Went to bed early. Decided that a television set could replace a skull in a vanitas still life.

Monday.
Went in early for office hours. Being the last week of school, I'm slightly concerned about job/teaching situation and the bigger picture of job searching and where to focus my energy for freelance or perma-part-time work. Saw message on cell phone from Kristi and heard that I may have sold a painting. Felt somewhat better. Had dinner with a friend at my new favorite and way too convenient dining spot, Green Peas. Stayed up late.

Sunday:
Attended opening of group show at The Attic, a new space in the attic of an artist, Cherie Benner Davis' home. I knew several people in the show. Nice show. For some reason, several people kept assuming I was in the show. It was nice to run into people I knew. Since I don't get out much, I'm always amazed that when I do go out, I usually run into people I know. Maybe there's a mathematical theory for this phenomena. Lovely digs and studio space filled with natrual light. I’m wondering what effect working in natural light would have on my work.

Saturday, Friday, Thursday and Wednesday: Bunch of paper, office work. Sometime in here, I had my motorcycle seat reupholstered and stopped by Kinkead Contemporary to have a portrait taken of the motorcycle and me by Heather Cantrell. I'm going to order a small one for my mom for her birthday. It's what every mother needs- a art-house portrait of their daughter posed on a motorcycle. The small ones are an edition of 10 and are priced at $100.*
* I think this is what the small photographs are going for. I can't get over there to purchase until the weekend, so not 100% positive yet.

I painted during this time, but like I said, I'm feeling a little self-conscious about droning on about the act of painting right now. Maybe later.

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.

I'm taking a break.

I'm such a liar. I said I would speak no more about a certain stack of papyrus pertaining to the dissolution of a certain set of promises, but here I am telling you once again that I have not completed my paperwork. I reconciled 3 months of bank statements and credit card statements, which was a step in the right direction. Hence THE BREAK, I am now taking. Earlier, I spent a few minutes in the studio working on a painting. I'm really amazed at myself now. You should be too.

Once upon a time, I would have scoffed at the idea that I could accomplish ANYTHING in the studio in less than a 3-hour time slot. Then one night when I was feeling sluggo, I bribed myself to work at least 1 hour in the studio even if I did not feel like it and found myself working at least 2 or more hours. So, here's the amazing part, and it has to do with the small paintings- I, who in a previous life would have dismissed anything less than a 3-hour time slot in the studio as negligible, have been able to walk in and make a few meaningful strokes on a canvas in the amount of time it would take me to open and sort the mail. This includes washing my brushes. Occasionally it includes putting caps back on paints, but not really. Which is all to say that I have accepted the oddity of making marks in the space in-between. And I do love the concept of between and all the things that happen there, so it's perfect. Ah, fodder.

And on the workshop... Cheryl who hosted it at her academy made sure the experience was lovely. Coffee and pastries to start, (lunch for me from a near-by vegan joint) and at end of day she served wine, and for us non-drinkers, some bubbly coca-cola. In between the food and drink, I was on conveyor belt. It was a great time, but 12 students was a couple too many to work with one-on-one. I have a good idea of how to tweak it next time, which includes being specific about realistic expectations for all involved, cutting the session short to chill out and relax while we evaluate everyone's painting in a group setting, and possibly suggesting a size limit on canvases for a 1-day workshop. Some students thought they would finish a painting in 6 hours and nearly everyone was exhausted. Many said they had never painted that long or hard and by 5 pm, some still had a long ways to go before a solid painting would emerge. A few played it safe and did what they knew best with regard to abstract painting and a few tried really hard to mimic the process as I described it. Twice I felt the need to warn everyone that at the end of the day, although their paintings might look like a disaster, it was a good starting point and not to give up.

I'm not sure I would pay good money to take a workshop from someone who said that, but then again, I wake up and live by that code, so I don't have to. Perhaps I made abstract painting seem too grueling. And no, the paintings didn't look disastrous, but seriously, 6 hours was a starting point. The good thing is that as everyone was packing up, I could see the next step for all of them. We'll see where it goes from here. I liked conducting a workshop. Lots of good energy and I felt useful. Good ole Protestant Work Ethic at work.

I would write about how exhausted I am, but I'm too exhausted.

"Disaappointment in love, where the character is amiable, gives a pathetic interest to woman or man..."

Another one bites the dust.

I have in my possession and intend on actually reading, a book titled, "English Portrait Miniatures." Meanwhile, I've only had the time to pick it up and randomly open to a page, which is how today's post title came into being.

From what I've gathered, a portrait miniaturist by the name of Cross suffered a stroke of "temporal misfortune" during the 1790's. Although he was born a "deaf-mute," he had an aptitude for art and was a successful and prolific worker until he either took ill or went on holiday, at which point his production dropped quite drastically. Furthermore, Mr. Cross was totally dissed and rejected by the woman he was in love with, who natch, being the 1790's and all, was also his cousin. He proposed, she rejected and he withdrew from society. It gets better. He harbors a ton of anger all his life, they run into each other 30 years later, she's looking rather ill and sickly, or "broken and dying," as the author would have it, and all his anger washes away and he's totally in love with her again. They part, I assume she expires, and I have no idea what happened next.

Such is the life of a one, Richard Cross, miniature portrait painter.

Let us all live and learn by this.

***

I'm teaching an abstract painting workshop tomorrow. 12 people have signed up. It should be fun, though I readily admit, "teaching" abstract painting is a mystery to me. I prefer to think of it as showing people how process-based paintings begin and evolve, according to me. I believe it quite impossible to make any painting, but especially an abstract one, without some sort of personal vision or mission to communicate something, so teaching techniques without knowing what people are interested in, is like only half the deal. I suppose it's like teaching writing, by giving people a dictionary, which now suddenly sounds like a splendid idea and I think I shall capitalize on that next. Meanwhile, maybe I'll ask everyone what they're interested in before I start wowing them pretending like I know what I'm doing with my artillery of techniques paints and brushes and coffee spills. I didn't decide to be an abstract painter. I think abstractly and work my way back to actuality and the concrete during the process of painting. I'm not sure how to do it in reverse.

I had another studio visit today and showed off some of the new ones on linen. I think it was a good visit. I've stopped being able to read people anymore, but I think it was good overall. I got some pointers: Be more social. Go to openings. Meet people.
Stop being so lazy and complacent. I'm paraphrasing of course.

Oh, and I need more paying work. Couch, cough, like a permanent part-time job that pays really well. Ideally one that I've designed. Still brainstorming on that small detail.

Addendum: Whenever I have left a rather hasty post, I re-read my post to make sure I wasn't spouting off nonsense, and since I am not a publication with any sort of ethical standard, I reserve the right to correct or delete things said in haste. Blogging, to a certain degree is about haste. I haven't yet pre-written any posts and pasted them in, though don't put that past me either.

That said, I came across a couple of sentences where I, the "I" was having trouble defining the gap between appearing knowledgeable about what I do versus pretending to be clueless and way more humble than I am. Note the strikeout phrases. Somewhere between those two strikeouts is the truth. At certain times, I do feel like I have the ability to amaze, and that painting IS like pulling a rabbit out of a hat. On the other hand, I pretend every day that I know what I'm doing. And after a few or more years of pretending every day that I know what I'm doing and maybe I don't pretend anymore, but in my studio, I never assume they'll win. It's a game in there (the studio) and I need to be sharp, but not so sharp that I have it all figured out before I walk in the door. Which brings me to my "artillery of techniques." It seemed a tad less trite than "bag of tricks" and far more economical than listing any and everything I have used in order to get paint onto a surface.

Regarding the studio visit. I must have been feeling sad at end of day, because it was a very good visit. My self-described laziness and complacency does need to be worked on, both socially and in regard to goals. At the end of the day, give me a book and a bowl of cherries or "The Wire" and a bowl of popcorn and a furry creature at my feet (or at my side) and I'm content. However, I don't think that defines social and so having the good fortune to live in the smack center of an art world proper, I need to get out more.

I'm slow on bouncing back during this D thing, and I wasn't particularly extroverted before.

I may as well have re-written the post, no?

I'm going to quit talking about the paperwork.

But FYI, now I have to inventory ALL my artwork made from October 24, 2001- March 1 of 2009. Legally, 50% of everything I created during that period is community property. I won't go into the emotional aspects of this. I've made peace with that.

Natch, I should have been keeping up with my inventory anyway, but at a certain point, say 2 or 3 years ago, I stopped obsessively documenting and cataloging about EVERY single piece I made and got a little lax on some things, like works on paper and paintings that were going very sloooooow, like so slow that I'm sure they're still not finished.

Then I purged a few things. Plus, the Titling Department hasn't earned their keep in months, lazy bastards- so even though I would photograph a painting and import it into the computer, it lives like an inmate known only as, DSC_1390, or some other anonymous name that Nikon decided until the Titling department can get their ass in gear. Lazy bastards.

I'm getting a bid for building a painting rack this morning and then I'm going to be grading portfolios until class starts.

Yesterday I saw the doc, "Herb and Dorothy." It was a charming and fascinating look at collecting. The little Chamberlain that's in one of the first shots IS amazing. Absolutely, amazing. Here's a clip of that scene.


I have promised myself I will start doing yoga again.

Jolly good.

Trivia: my grandmother's (Father's side) maiden name was Jolly. Annie Lee Jolly. And of course, Annie Lee was pronounced, Annilee. Nice name, Jolly.



Today was a good day. I love studio visits, but I can see why artists have separate viewing rooms built specifically for viewing the work. The taking down works in progress, pulling out works for show, cleaning up and rearranging the furniture so that peeps can get an unobstructed view is time-consuming. This is not new news. It's old news. The studio is essentially down for a day because I'm usually too lazy to go in and strike the set and get back to the mess right away. Like right now, I could be painting, but instead have decided to write about what a dreadful chore it is to show work to people who love art. I am SO being sarcastic. Of course, it's NOT a chore and I love it. I'm just telling you how lazy I can be after I clean up the joint. (Okay, so maybe I'm more antsy to work than I let on- after my official guests had left, I pulled out those 3 small paintings in the foreground of the picture above to show KE some works in progress.)

To backtrack, Kristi had set up a studio visit with a couple interested in some of the larger paintings. My friend, Jason, was kind enough to let us view a painting on loan in his office on the 14th floor of the Condé Nast building. Afterward, we caravanned over to my impeccably organized studio and I showed them a few other paintings. After everyone left, I took ole Fuzzy Face for a walk, fixed us both some dinner and told Fang we were the most boring couple on Earth. Creative and smart, but boring.

Drawing takes time.

My students did, for the most part, a kick-ass job on their value project. I'll be grading mid-term portfolios Monday and Tuesday, but by end of class yesterday, their approximately 7 to 8-hour drawing of a sphere, a cone, a box and some metal thing, under dramatic lighting looked very good. I used to be of the belief that anyone's drawing will look spectacular after 8 hours. I have discovered this is not true, but that's okay, an 8-hour drawing is still admirable no matter how awkward it is. The student above works quickly and had an excellent drawing by the end of the first day, yet she managed to put another 3 hours in on the second day. It shows.

The shoe man is cruel & told me I need to wear them today.

Tonight is divorcepaperworkpizzaparty night and I can hardly wait...

I'm kidding on the can hardly wait part. But in trying to make the best of it, I've scheduled a pizza for delivery.

And of course, I'm still attempting some form of personal style before I walk off the premises. I admit to being one of those women, or perhaps, THE, only woman out there who hopes my ass still looks fetching in a pair of 501 jeans. Currently I'm down to one pair that's still working for me. Buying trendy jeans is such an ordeal and I'm quite over it. I'm not 30. I'm not 40. And unlike the rest of freaking LA, I don't want to look 20 or 30 either. I'm down with holding 40-something. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.


My feet couldn't take the black shoes again today. I believe it has taken me 6 years to break-in the above shoes.


The painting on the left is a work in progress. It was the one I accidentally left out overnight. Here it is pictured next to a paperback. LaRose might categorize this comparison as Syllogism.

It's a start

I've had these shoes for at least a few years. I thought they might prove to be my everyday shoes, but I was so slow on breaking them in, that only now am I considering wearing them all day. Today they're paired with my 501 shrink-to-fits, a long sleeve black polo, a sweater (totally picked up the wrap look from The Sartorialist) and an outdated handbag in a sort of a houndstooth tweed.

I'm currently sporting this look in the classroom.

The iPhone really should be more accommodating for self-portraits.

Note: the tat's from several years ago. Instead of opting for an Old English gang banger font to spell out my chosen mantra, I chose Japanese characters purely as a design element. Technically is means patience, when viewed while I'm sitting in Pigeon Pose.
***

And from the Do Not Attempt This At Home file:
I let Fang out this morning and did a double-take upon noticing that I had left a small painting out to dry between layers yesterday. There it was, sitting on a stool, covered with the morning dew. I'm sure I've done worse in my history of making art and properly caring for it, but at least it was a work in progress and thus gets a pass.

Tired, but had a happy 4th.

I forgot to eat breakfast or lunch, and although I had my afternoon espresso, I was still tired, so I finally called it a half-ass day in the studio and diverted my attention to reading about other people's lives for a change. I stumbled upon one of my links and was reminded that I secretly adore, The Sartorialist. I aspire to dress like the women on this blog. I especially love seeing the older women that mange to stay stylish without being victims.

If you were to run into me on the street somewhere, you would know I am not a slave to current fashion. I avoided buying a designer handbag with tons of hardware, and oversize sunglasses shall never touch my face. I even went so far as to buy Clark Wallabees in Amsterdam 5 years ago, partially due to some nostalgia kick from prep school days, but also as a defiant anti-fashion gesture.

I've worn them twice. They are incredibly comfortable, but the frump factor is way too high, even for me and I haven't the heart to turn them into studio shoes, mainly because they lace up.

So while I haven't seen any images capturing women wearing Wallabees, I did see overalls on the site and felt a sense of camaraderie and hope. I get closer and closer everyday to developing a uniform I can live with.

Learn from my mistake

If you've followed me with some fair amount of consistency, you would know that shipping and packing is for some reason a Herculean task for me, a huge mental block, and some sort of hellish punishment I get for choosing to be a painter.
I honestly cannot tell you why it looms so big in my mind and why the very thought of it causes me so much anxiety, but it does.

I bid out a commission and because I've only worked with this company once before and because last time the works was modular and could fit easily in the car and because last time I dropped it off to the LA office, and because they did not tell me this time specifically where it was going, it did not occur to me to include shipping and packing in my bid for what it would cost to do a 54" x 54" painting. And when I did realize this, a few days after I was awarded the project, I figured it would just cost a truck rental fee to deliver it from my studio to the LA office and so I politely mentioned this, expecting hoping to be reimbursed.

Turns out I was expected to include in my bid the cost of shipping and packing the work across the country to their other office and dear reader- to arrange this myself. I must be the only artist who is terrified of crating and transporting artwork. Indeed, I've chronicled just about every experience.

I've looked through my contract and yes, there is a little clause stating for commission work the cost of shipping will be considered in the bid and to please TRY to include shipping costs at that point in time. Not to slough off responsibility but last time when I made note of the shipping costs in my bid, I was told I could drop it off to the LA office. Hence, my lack of concern.

I feel certain it will all work out without anyone losing too much money, Turns out I have a 62" x 62" strongbox in storage. It arrived damaged, which is why I still have it, but in order to save $400 on the crate alone, you can bet I'm going to patch it. For chrissakes, I'll use bondo if need be, and if worst comes to worst, I'll roll it up in a tube and they can restretch it there. I don't think the company was too happy when I asked about covering shipping & packing costs after the fact. I didn't quite get the "You'll never work in this town again" treatment, but it wasn't all, "Oh don't worry, this happens all the time."

I actually like doing commission work, and will explain why later, but since it's not something I do all the time, I tend to forget all the finer points of bidding a project.
Time to carve out a bid sheet.

Damn, I can be a simpleton.
Okay second rule for my manifesto:
I will not make paintings larger than 22” x 28” unless it is necessary.

I'm wondering how long before I break that one. I received another phone inquiry about the work this morning. It's downright freaky. Why now? Why within a 3-week time span? Not complaining at all. Good Lord, if everything were to come through, I might be able to relax for a split second. Anyway, the gentleman was interested in the BIG paintings. Which is all good, but some are here, some are at KE Gallery, some are a a friend's art school where I will be teaching a workshop, one is on loan and and most are in a storage facility about 2 miles away.



View Where My Available Paintings Are: in a larger map

So, in a brilliant move, I called the man who framed out my sliding glass door 5 years ago and he's going to do a bid for building a a painting/storage rack in my studio. Would mean a smaller work space, but at least the family would be united again and it would be easier for studio visits.

I'm working on a manifesto.

What is it with being hungry at 2:30pm? I ate breakfast around 9 AM and bumped up my afternoon espresso to 11:15 AM. Wasn’t that enough? This business of scarfing down pop tarts as soon as I get home has got to stop.

Last semester, my key broke off and I couldn't get a working replacement key for around 8 weeks. Every Saturday, I tried to have faith that the replacement key would be in my mailbox or that it would be the right key, but no. I was locked out of the prop room, my classroom and my office until I walked over to campus police and requested they unlock the doors. And not to make light of people who don’t have another solution, but it tuned out the locksmith committed suicide shortly after my dilemma began, which might explain the wait. I was patient.

This semester, it’s the lights. More than half the lights in my classroom don’t work. I just hope the electrician isn’t burnt out too.

Enough of my gallows humor and bad puns.

Tomorrow is a holiday. Yay! My studio time is suffering from being broken up into teeny chunks of time before class and after class. Who am I kidding? There were no chunks this week at all. I did walk into the studio and stare at a painting. That counts for something. And this is how spaced I've been this week-I showed up an hour early today for office hours and didn't realize until 5:15 as I was leaving class, that it was Wednesday and that I had already held my 2 hours of office time on Monday and Tuesday.

I am going to work in the studio all day tomorrow. Chores be damned.

Oh right, the manifesto. It's a work in progress, so I'll piecemeal it out at the end or beginning of the upcoming posts. I'm still considering the purpose of my manifesto, but I think it's heading in the direction of how to rein in some of the chaos in my life and live a more peaceful, purposeful and prosperous life as an artist.
Beginning with:

All work made from this date on must fit in the trunk of my car.