|Self Letter. I made this today.|
|Some letters 'n things going on in my 'folio. Whoa.|
This kind of Red inspires me.
These kind of Horses too. Big fat old ones.
Motorbikes/ Funny Girls holding guns. Oh yeah. Where did that come from? That I like.
Keep drawing hands when there's nothing else. There is always that.
Triangles and hands are my go-to's. Go Tos.
The scrap pile is the first place I visit at the studio. Pre-loved paper GOLD MINE. Swipes of color, weird art, manilla, good stock, bits and pieces, string, matte board (ten million points for a big find). You never know what you will find in that cauldron of hope. Sat there at the light table completely emptied except for big undone flowers floating through thought. Olive green, coral and just the right cross between red and orange. The right kind of blue. How do you all work together? What do you need to become? It is weird starting from nothing there, in a space made for production. No time to conceptualize these days. No art production. I write letters instead of printing/ instead of stencilling/ instead of illustrating.
This mind is filled with blanche waters and fish scales flying and Earth Balance and root vegetables cut on the bias. Lists organized by A to B to C priority. Not art. This job is good for me. It's new and good. Challenging in funny ways. Trying hard not to be defeated by a long standing fear of baking. Trying hard to remember what is taught.
Too tired to print, to conjure, to anything. I did mess around with some of that sweet rubylith stuff (red overlay) at the light table for a fast half assed stencil ((see above)) and in doing so discovered it is not nearly as challenging as presumed. Ain't nothin' to it but to __ __ __ __.
This is the extent of my art scope these daze.
Yikes. Quite clearly I need to dip my brush in some magic waters and get moving. Hibernation station.
Dear EJA, Dear Chanel, Dear Simon. I am coming for you, mailform.