Yeah, that 'c' in 'I'ce' was a typo. It was supposed to read, "How I've Come to Loathe That Phrase."
Today marks the beginning of my 14th consecutive week of running. According to my schedule, today is an off day, no run, but according to the weather foref*ckingcast, we're supposed to have more snow, and temps in the teens, twenties, and even single digits this week, so I'm debating whether to get a couple of miles in today, should I decide later this week that I would just as soon be eaten alive by fire ants than run in the cold one more day. Some days I lace up, walk out the door and think, I cannot do this. I am sick of the windchill. I am sick of fumbling with 3 layers, my headphones, my gloves, my hat. Sometimes I make tiny muffled scream sounds into my motorcycle balaclava. Sometimes, I come back in after 1 mile. Then I go back out. And come back in. Nonetheless, I have shaved a minute off my pace and am consistently doing 3-mile runs without injury, so all is good. Running helps me soldier through quiet days when I feel like nothing noticeable is happening professionally. Running is a physical reminder that stuff is always happening of course. I have a piece of paper tacked to my wall telling me as much, as long as I show up and do the work. An artist friend gave this to me a few years ago after it played an important role in her studio for many years. She has nice handwriting, the kind you might associate with an accomplished artist. Sometimes I have nice handwriting. Other times I look like I could be writing ransom notes.
but it's actually an interesting view, and rather safe. The new studio is for water-based works.
Next up: I'm in an invitational auction this week back in L.A. Online biding is available. Check it.
re:FORM
Drug Policy Alliance 4th annual art auction and cocktail benefit
February 10th, 2011
Honor Fraser Gallery
2262 S. La Cienga
Los Angeles, CA 90034
http://www.reformartauction.org/
After a brief visit to the studio, I am back. I was just getting ready to exalt the separation of studio life and personal life when it started snowing. I reluctantly cleaned my brushes and came home.
Other than obsessively documenting my view,
I worked on a couple of watercolors. I am venturing out of my safe zone. One of the new watercolors is 20 x 16 inches and stretched old school style with staples to a plywood board. So far, I'm making do with my current brushes. Over the years I have figured out that I am righteously in love with ridiculously expensive watercolor brushes such as Escoda and Isabey. I used to be a DaVinci fan, but notice that they are not holding up as well (the ferrule loosens, and I'm almost certain they're losing their spring.) Thus far, I own only a few elite brushes in modestly ridiculously expensive sizes (read small) along with a decent arsenal of working class bushes. The largest really nice brush I own is a size 10, maybe a 12. If I continue working large, I might fantasize about the Escoda Kolinsky Sable size 20 pointed round or a huge cat's tongue by Isabey. [pant, pant.]
I'm too lazy tired to discuss the courtship phase I am going through with the watercolors, but to be honest, there's something rather taxing about it. There's mostly adoration and true love, but there's also the insane feeling like I'm running out of color, shapes and composition. I have mentioned that the focus of these watercolors is to be as abstract as possible, referencing nothing inasmuch as I can remember. They're all strategy. You'd think they would get easier, but they're amazingly more difficult after a few. I'm going with the flow so to speak. Totally process.
I'm so sick of the weather. I tried to think of something nice to say as I was driving home. I had that odd feeling of being almost repulsed by beauty. My studio is not very far from home and yet, I felt as though I had traveled a continent based upon how heavy the snow was falling by the time I reached my driveway.
Tomorrow is a running day.
[later that very same day]
After a brief visit to the studio, I am back. I was just getting ready to exalt the separation of studio life and personal life when it started snowing. I reluctantly cleaned my brushes and came home.
Other than obsessively documenting my view,
I worked on a couple of watercolors. I am venturing out of my safe zone. One of the new watercolors is 20 x 16 inches and stretched old school style with staples to a plywood board. So far, I'm making do with my current brushes. Over the years I have figured out that I am righteously in love with ridiculously expensive watercolor brushes such as Escoda and Isabey. I used to be a DaVinci fan, but notice that they are not holding up as well (the ferrule loosens, and I'm almost certain they're losing their spring.) Thus far, I own only a few elite brushes in modestly ridiculously expensive sizes (read small) along with a decent arsenal of working class bushes. The largest really nice brush I own is a size 10, maybe a 12. If I continue working large, I might fantasize about the Escoda Kolinsky Sable size 20 pointed round or a huge cat's tongue by Isabey. [pant, pant.]
I'm too lazy tired to discuss the courtship phase I am going through with the watercolors, but to be honest, there's something rather taxing about it. There's mostly adoration and true love, but there's also the insane feeling like I'm running out of color, shapes and composition. I have mentioned that the focus of these watercolors is to be as abstract as possible, referencing nothing inasmuch as I can remember. They're all strategy. You'd think they would get easier, but they're amazingly more difficult after a few. I'm going with the flow so to speak. Totally process.
I'm so sick of the weather. I tried to think of something nice to say as I was driving home. I had that odd feeling of being almost repulsed by beauty. My studio is not very far from home and yet, I felt as though I had traveled a continent based upon how heavy the snow was falling by the time I reached my driveway.
Tomorrow is a running day.
2 comments:
I reluctantly hand over the austerity trophy to you, for your studio view. My 2"x4" burglar bars now seem quaint.
I'll post some glamor shots soon. Sometimes it feels more like Jurassic Park than prison, not that I have a firm grasp on either of those conditions, you understand.
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