I'll be damned if I have to queue, the talk has already started, I'm winging it.
This bloody phone won't let me see who it is when it rings so I can't filter calls. Oh, it's a client and I haven't had my morning coffee yet, I am going to be out of sorts all day now.
Painting is just another way of keeping a diary - Picasso
Maybe that's all I really ever need to say in my statements, after all, it's all I am doing.
Not bad. Not bad at all. It looks good. Still can't get over the woman crying at the Tate last night. Imagine crying because you didn't get into a talk. Wow, she must really love her art. She blubbered right round the Tate for god's sake. She was at least forty.
Read read read, it's all I do. I wish I could go to the party in Scarborough tomorrow.
I wonder how i can use those fabrics? Tweed? No. But I don't want to do the whole ethnic thing...
A lot of input today, maybe too much! No time to make work. The painting doesn't make my heart sink now. Thank god for black.
This canvas is awful, not as bad as yesterday but awful. I am going back to flatness. Forget backgrounds as a stage set for the narrative, they just don't matter to me.
“The canary bird in the coal mine theory of the arts: artists should be treasured as alarm systems.”
My blog, a thought or two