Tuesday, January 15, 2008

sluggy painter

In the aftermath of a show opening, I am a slug. An underwater slug dreamily drifting with little concentration or brainpower. I can't get anything done. The dining room table piles higher and higher with things that need to be somewhere else. I don't even know where where-else is. And oy, the studio. The walls are studded with pushpins and hanging thingys. The walls also show the scars of past larger paintings: the oops missed marks, the writing in charcoal reminding me of something now forgotten, and the curling white paper from the last photo shoot.

The new cradled panels nag me to get them gessoed and strung up. The toxic waste makes me feel sooooo

It is so sad to feel so sluggy. A sunny day might help. Or a cookie.

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swamp, 55" x 29"

in progress

flying fish, 55" x 29"

eye with a view

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I am living and painting in the little town of Houston. A far way from my San Francisco beginnings. I paint what I see of the human condition, be it human, animal or object. The glimmer of humor, pathos, and spirit in so much of what I see is the basis of what I paint.


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