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I said I would finish painting number sixteen by midmorning, but at midmorning I was eating breakfast with Tom and not even thinking about painting.
I have what they call a slow tick.
After the dubious pleasure of eating a fried fish burrito (I say dubious because it seemed to be composed of all the things that end up uneaten in a fridge: leftover ricearoni, stale tortilla, fish stick, ketchup, tabasco sauce, lettuce), I told Tom that I wanted to go home and paint. He informed me that he would rather ride bikes to REI to buy me a brand new pair of Vibram Five Finger shoes. Twist my arm. Off we went.
I bought a pair of shoes that make me look part reptilian. These shoes are meant specifically for barefoot runners, and while I'm new to the sport, I've always loathed socks. As opposed to the classic model of these shoes, which make you look like a deadly ninja, these are brightly colored but mold to your foot like a latex glove. I'm posting a picture just because I love them.
We rode bikes home from REI, stopping several times for cold drinks, and at the ripe hour of five o'clock, I settled in behind my canvas.
I was pretty determined to finish the painting that I posted yesterday half completed, so when I felt my eyelids droop at midnight, I forced myself to continue painting until the thing was done. Here it is.
I'm really happy with the way that this has turned out. I just finished reading this book, "A Fatal Grace", which was horrible and I don't recommend. My mother recommended it to me, and I don't know why. Its about a cadre of failed octogenarian artists lost in complete obscurity. To make matters worse, the setting is Quebec in the dead of winter. Those of you who know me well know that while superficially I appear to be fearless and invincible, I have a horrible fear of ice. Yes, ice. The stuff makes be crumple up into a little ball. Even writing about it right now is making my skin break out in goosebumps.
So, lets see. Failing as an artist, check. Being surrounded by Canadian Frenchmen, check. Living in a virtual igloo, check. Yes, all the requirements for hell are met. Which brings me to this question: Mom, did I so something to upset you?
The only good part of the book was discovering a Leonard Cohen song that I haven't heard before, but which truly touched me. The song is called Anthem, and it inspires me to continue painting light:
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
I have what they call a slow tick.
After the dubious pleasure of eating a fried fish burrito (I say dubious because it seemed to be composed of all the things that end up uneaten in a fridge: leftover ricearoni, stale tortilla, fish stick, ketchup, tabasco sauce, lettuce), I told Tom that I wanted to go home and paint. He informed me that he would rather ride bikes to REI to buy me a brand new pair of Vibram Five Finger shoes. Twist my arm. Off we went.
I bought a pair of shoes that make me look part reptilian. These shoes are meant specifically for barefoot runners, and while I'm new to the sport, I've always loathed socks. As opposed to the classic model of these shoes, which make you look like a deadly ninja, these are brightly colored but mold to your foot like a latex glove. I'm posting a picture just because I love them.
We rode bikes home from REI, stopping several times for cold drinks, and at the ripe hour of five o'clock, I settled in behind my canvas.
I was pretty determined to finish the painting that I posted yesterday half completed, so when I felt my eyelids droop at midnight, I forced myself to continue painting until the thing was done. Here it is.
I'm really happy with the way that this has turned out. I just finished reading this book, "A Fatal Grace", which was horrible and I don't recommend. My mother recommended it to me, and I don't know why. Its about a cadre of failed octogenarian artists lost in complete obscurity. To make matters worse, the setting is Quebec in the dead of winter. Those of you who know me well know that while superficially I appear to be fearless and invincible, I have a horrible fear of ice. Yes, ice. The stuff makes be crumple up into a little ball. Even writing about it right now is making my skin break out in goosebumps.
So, lets see. Failing as an artist, check. Being surrounded by Canadian Frenchmen, check. Living in a virtual igloo, check. Yes, all the requirements for hell are met. Which brings me to this question: Mom, did I so something to upset you?
The only good part of the book was discovering a Leonard Cohen song that I haven't heard before, but which truly touched me. The song is called Anthem, and it inspires me to continue painting light:
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
