Time to wrap it up for the day. I missed the bloodroot this year in my spring walk in Morris Park. Gone already.
But I started working on a painting–a series I hope– that I’ve been thinking about since I started making stuff again. Broken concrete sidewalks.
So far–it’s like nothing I’ve seen before. I need to do some sketches. If I were to set up an easel (I won’t), and be drawing someplace in public, peeps would come by and look, and say… wha the fuck is that? And I’d point down to where they were standing.
All of my considerable neurotic tendencies are concentrated and intensified in my making … “art.” Not in the doing it, while I’m doing it. But before and after. My only escape is to keep working on stuff.
Note: I said “stuff” … not “art.” Except in scare quotes. Evidence for above.
I really do wish it were possible … to do nothing else.
But not in this world.