A conversation:

Q: Hey, didn't you have a motorcycle?
A: Why yes, I did, but it's dead. I just discovered that my nearly brand new battery which was on a battery tender  doesn't work after my circuit breakers tripped due to either a flood or a lightning strike and I haven't had a chance to remove the battery and see if it's the battery or the bike that has an issue.
Q: Oh wow, sorry I asked.
Q: Other than that, how is everything?
A: I wish Eurovans got better gas mileage
Q: I didn't know you owned a Eurovan?
A: I don't.
Q: Let's talk about your paintings?
A: Let's talk about Fairfield Porter
Q: Why?
A: Someone called him lazy.
Q: You don't think he was lazy?
A: No, this is lazy:

Q: That doesn't look finished.
A: That's what I thought until I remembered it was a painting. I decided to stop working on it.
Q: I think you're kidding, but I'm never really sure.


[note: a much tamer post than I intended. I ran out of steam.]

Act II

In which our protagonist returns with her 2nd cup of coffee and pretends like nothing happened.

Poor abstraction.

Curbside service

I'm at the drive-in today.

Old flames

I woke up after having a dream about someone. I won't name names. There was also another person in my dream. They were together. I was much wittier than she was.
***





Seemingly unrelated, I was trying to find my way back to abstraction this morning, you know, like just to see if the chemistry was still there. The sex was a lot more work than I remember it being and I forgot how awkward it could be. I left the room saying I was going to get us some coffee.

Mug shot

It's a good likeness, yes?
Our neighborhood has been under siege.

I need some inspiration in the creature comfort area.

Artists and their studios.
http://artistsstudios.tumblr.com
http://www.bohonus.com/galleries/personal-projects/artists-studios/
http://pinterest.com/bowerbirdgirl/artist-s-and-their-studios/

I'm still on the fence about my light gray studio wall. It's a bit cool. I'm gearing up for a smackdown between Alabaster and Greek Villa. It has to go with my Extra White Trim without turning snot green. I miss the golden sunshine. Perhaps I am expecting too much from a coat of paint.

I am secretly hoping for something to fall through. To the point that I am making pretend bargains with unknown forces.

Operator Error.

I accidentally deleted some posts by remote.

Recap:
I fixed a running toilet for $8 bucks.
I made a smock dress.
I painted the walls of the living room, moved the easels and palette table inside, and hung my "studio"  sign from my Culver City studio over the door to make it official. I'm back in business.

Fast Forward:
I consider myself a hard worker, so when I feel exceptionally lazy and tired, like I do right now, I pay attention. I claim no super powers, but based on experience, I take this to be a sign that I should take advantage of what appears to be a fallow period, or a calm before a storm. I'm excited to have a studio sofa.

This is not a rant.

Consider yourself spared of my rant on the local arts "scene". Or "arts" scene. Dealer's choice for what to put quotes around. 

I'm not attending any more local lectures or panel discussions. I finally realized I am not the target audience. Not only that, but I received a parking ticket for a broken meter machine. Friggin uneven gravel lot waiting for a high-rise and they slap some broken-ass money machine in the corner of the lot and call it "parking." End of story. 

It's time for a manifesto. and free parking. Would it kill you, Nashville, to have free parking somewhere downtown?