I didn’t get much painting done today but I did work on Heated Museum Discussion. I wiped the entire surface with denatured alcohol before stating and the paint went on like butter. I spent most of the day getting my boat, the Betty Jane, ready for winter. This is an annual event I don’t relish.…
Me and the dog–the notorious Silky Terrier, Buddy–walked on the beach this morning. The violence of Lake Erie’s gales always surprises those unfamiliar with the Great Lakes. During storms, the lake is nothing like the placid oasis for pleasure boaters and fishermen that we hold in memory. It’s loud–a continuous roar. The legendary power of the waves smashing the shoreline is the bane of lakefront property owners.
Buddy and I walked down our rough steps and out onto the jetty, buffeted by the wind and soaked by the wave-tossed spray. After a short walk, Buddy had enough and we made for home. This gale is mild compared to those that will come soon.
I worked on this small painting this morning. I am still working on the underpainting but it’s far enough along to show. I used to be phobic about people commenting on unfinished work. I used to hate–I mean hate–it when people visited my studio unannounced. They would inevitably comment about the unfinished work piled everywhere. Even…
In her recent New York Times article, The Art of Slowing Down in a Museum, Stephanie Rosenbloom admonishes us to slow down when we visit museums. 20 minutes, she says, in front of a single work of art provides the most therapeutic experience. She sights several studies and experiments to buttress her argument, but essentially she’s pulled…
The NY Times recently ran a piece about visiting art museums. I consider myself something of an expert on the subject, and I’m writing a post about the article, which–knock on wood!–I’ll publish soon.
As readers know, I average one visit per week to museums. So far this year, I’ve visited the Cleveland Museum of Art 30+ times, and the Met 4 times. I am going to the Cleveland Museum later today. Aside from the staff, I probably visit the Cleveland Museum of Art more than anyone in the world.
From the backseat
her red hair an accusation.
Thin, careworn, and cunning
burnt forever by that long-ago season;
she knows the wrong things.
Dissolute pools
trapping the blue sky,
her mascara-smeared eyes lie,
looking backly.
“This is how the world is,”
nodding,
“this is how the world is.”
Her disjoint face abandons
the words she forces;
words are flight,
purposed for betrayal.
The Fall creeps in,
steals what is not hers;
is merciless.
Today’s session was the third painting session for The Photographer (32″ x 48″). The under-painting is nearly finished–one more session. Because it’s a single female figure, it reminds me of the recently finished The Explainer. I didn’t get much done this week. The flu shot I got on Monday–DO NOT get a flu shot when you’re…
I listen to Bob Dylan’s music. I’m interested in his music, but I am not a fan of the man. I don’t believe much of what is written about him, nor do I believe much of what he says about himself. I’ve never attended a performance during his endless-seeming tours. I didn’t always listen to Dylan’s music; in fact,…