The rush back home

All new notebook posts now appear at the Lastwater HQ.

Phillip! Where’s my pink crowbar?

First – I am gloriously revelling in a new pen with a good new tip.  The old pen tip was about two months shot.

Second – I’ve decided to take apart the doomed piano myself and store all material in the warren for later projects.   D has claimed dibs on the fretwork panels.  I don’t know what Gus is going to sit on or how she’ll climb over the bunny barrier without the piano there to catch her.

Regarding the development of notions

In April of 2001 I was still in the middle of painting the Wick exhibit.  Wick was  naked, historical men with guns, titled and posed into some sort of poignant and vulnerable condition.  At the time I also made the above sketch as an example of the pictures I’d like to make if I could a:  paint them entirely from direct observation and b:  know the images felt as real and non-cute as life was when I was the age of the protagonists.

Shit does get cute sometimes now, but I try not to hold it against myself.

Also, from the same book, here is one of the Wick sketches:

Pink birch

At MLC, one of the 1-3rd grade elective courses is in environmental art and photography.   This installation combined a leaf chain with bands of bright burgundy staining.

Single Batch Afternoon

The following drawings were produced during a brief after-school sun break.  They are shown in order of execution.

Again, a stick.

Always follow the man with the notebook.   Watch out for fences.

That one actually got kind of ugly later.

I think it was some sort of planning,  plotting moment.   Action soon followed.

They lost their heads.

I can’t put you down until you let go of my shirt.

A rare envy

 

I don’t care to over-impose my reminiscences onto the drawings – the drawings are primarily localized incidents of interest – however – I greatly wish I’d had a friend like this.

Season of the Yarn Moustache

With a perfect moustache made of pale brown yarn, no other accessories are needed.

Walk fast and you cannot fall

I’m in the middle of (sort of) learning drupal while we rebuild lastwater.net.  All this spread-about content on wordpress will finally be fully contained on lastwater where it belongs.  Wish me luck and let me know if I get too chummy.

I’m also bagging up recent monotypes and woodcuts to sell off for linen to paint next summer’s  grisaille show.

And plus also too I’ve just about got a workshop series written up for Atelier Meridian.  It’s called (for now) Gut Document and is an attempt to con participants into relying solely on direct observation for their print compositions.  We’ll probably all just catch pneumonia.

And yes so too I am, maybe obviously, drinking black rather than green tea all day today.

Horrible visions of my own demise

 

I could go down with a massive paper cut across the jugular vein.

Barn and moon

 

I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about a new horse barn.  I have deep and important memories of very old horse barns.  Maybe seeing how hard Nick and Jessie worked to save up and build this place for their horses and students makes so it extra okay.   Also it suits them well, and good function makes almost anything beautiful.   Moonlight, too.