it is a slow build as i assemble my outdoor studio on the porch. boxes of images that i've cut and collected for years. piles of books that may have what i'm looking for. scissors. glue. brushes and boards. carrying armload after armload down the stairs and through the back door to the porch. and when it's piled across the table, there is alot of staring. and shuffling through images on onion skin pages and rough yellowed paper. and dealing with the glaring shiny paper that sometimes holds beautiful imagery. and running back upstairs to sift through piles that are buried in the paper room. making piles of 'maybes'. and whittling them down to the few that might just be right. it takes hours before i can pour the glue. and i slide the pieces around like a puzzle of the vision that sprouts behind my eyes. singing with nick cave and sarah harmer and david bowie.
the sun is spotted and leafy and dappled on my work area. the natural filter is perfect. yet the sun is warm on my shoulders and forearms and it naturally dries the glue with speed. the work takes over. i have to be forced away from it. this is what makes me miserable and ecstatic. this work is what i am.
Giving Up Acrylics But Not Playing It Safe
23 hours ago