Confessions

Hi Lees,
I don't know if you got your furniture yet, but I sent N the same set and the PO here kind of ripped one of the table legs off and shoved in the chair tabs...but that's mail art, I guess.  You hope it survives the journey and when it arrives semi-intact it has its war wounds to show for the hazardous distance it had to travel to get to its ultimate destination.   Or something like that.  Actually, what it really means is that I need to stop going to that horrible PO, the one that covered the sardine tin in a layer of 1 cent stamps.  What does it say about me that I keep going back there?  Is it a sign of insanity?  I hope not.  Nevermind it's basically the only PO in town...I need to find a new drop off spot.  Well, here are the photos of what it's supposed to look like if it got to you somewhat unscathed:

My insomnia has been acting up lately and in the middle of the night I think about the profound things with which I am going to inflict this blog.  Then, I drift off, only to forget all the philosophizing of the night before.

Today I was very bad.  I went to the dog park with a friend this morning.  Then when I'd normally go home and do something creative-ish, I found myself saying yes to breakfast out...then a pit stop at a resale shop that recently moved and my friend and I convinced ourselves that we just wanted to see the new space.  We parked the car in the shade for the dogs (Yes, we now have a little dog.  Leonard.  Don't ask.  He's a recovering menace is all I'll say.)  and went to examine the edifice.  It doesn't take a genius to infer that money was spent, resale stores being dangerous to the wallet and all.  I have to admit it was fun and there is no doubt in my mind I will probably do this again.

I guess what I'm getting at is that I didn't work on the next installment when I had full intention of going home and starting.  I would like to send you a variety pack of watercolor papers so you can see what a difference there is between them.  I'm telling you, it's all in the paper.  Don't let anyone tell you otherwise!  I especially like a 140 pound hot press.  Sometimes even a heavier weight depending.  It's a very smooth paper and if you get the right brand, the bleeding is minimal, even non-existent.  Get the wrong brand and it's very difficult to control your paint.  You also need a good-ish brush, which is worth the investment.  You can probably get a pretty good one for under $10.

I'm also working on a series of small box paintings that involve various types of human interaction.  I hope to get them done for a show...nothing big...I'm thinking about booking one of the display cases at the library and see how that goes.  The older I get the less interested I am in trying to do gallery stuff.  These boxes won't be polished.  They're more organic, kind of tired looking, kind of scraggly.  I'm interested in having them look stumbled upon...not literally stepped on, rather discovered by accident, like an artifact.  And, further, once found and held, played with to the point that whoever takes the time to touch and explore them will find out things about them that are unexpected.  Hard to explain, but I love the element of surprise.  Pleasant surprise, of course.

I wish I could do art for a living.  Even though I had a great time today, I feel vaguely guilty and a little regretful that I didn't get to work...there's always tomorrow...D