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? 

As a painter, I think you shouldn’t expose the public to things they already know, almost as an obligation.  You have to take them beyond where things are easily explained.   I think of myself as a very conventional person, very ordinary person, but I do believe that one of the obligations of an artist is to go toward transcendence, and that seems valuable to me. That’s good enough for me to keep going. -Wolf Kahn

I'm still working on sorting through things in the house: a pile for garbage, a pile for sale, a pile for Goodwill. Endless Summer. It was hectic for a week or so and just when I felt I made some progress, my garage studio flooded while I was out of town-about 4 inches of water according to the water marks left on the studio furniture legs. I didn't have any artwork on the floor. I know better. I'm guessing an electrical cord, the one connecting my battery tender to my motorcycle was submerged in water which caused the breaker to trip. The water eventually drained out, even though I don't have a drain. Since sweeping silt in 90 degree heat is not something I'm willing to spend a solid 8 hours on, I've put in about 2 hours a day cleaning up. I should have it swept up by the weekend. I don't know why I pretend I can work out there. I'm a Romantic, but not that romantic.

I opened up the inside studio again and pulled out some watercolors.
I thought about abstraction. I even called a few times just to hear its voice but hung up before it answered.

Untitled watercolors

Rocks and stuff

It is not going as smoothly and guilt-free as the Ministry of Furniture would have liked us to believe. After a few  back-to-back 15-hour work days moving things around and attempting to restore order, I melted. I lost track of the time. The cupboards were almost bare. I had frozen yogurt with my raw oats one morning because I had run out of regular yogurt. I let it melt while I showered. It was fine. A little chilly, but fine. I made some headway, but I was unable to concentrate in the studio. It was raining and the studio felt like a swamp. I finally resurfaced yesterday after playing with my rock collection at breakfast. I made miniature cairns. It helped.

I did not grow up to be a klepto, but I remember stealing that white slab of marble from my Sunday school class when I was 2 or 3. I don't actually remember attending class after that, however. I do remember my mother trying to return it, but obviously I have it still. Later, in kindergarten, I stole a conglomerate at nap time. If that turns up around here, I will be elated. I miss that rock.

Later I painted. I wasn't sure how it was going. I usually don't paint over canvases. I don't think it's a good practice for a number of reasons, but I needed a canvas and there was something about the soon to be destroyed  painting that irked me and it wasn't a good irk. It was a last ditch effort to make an abstract painting when I didn't feel like it kind of irked. This feels better. I'm glad I painted over the other one.

(^ I still need a better shot of this.)

I've been staring at this  for the last 30 years:

It's been in the kitchen cabinet along with a George and Martha washing plate, a beer stein, and an old gourd. It's from 1983/84. I was making paintings of vessels at the time and decided to paint a couple of actual vessels. I would call them vases now and drop the overt essentialist feminist overtone that marked my work as an undergrad.