I spent the day in my new studio. Just me, the easel, the paint, the canvases, 15 years of older work, and an empty fridge. It was interesting to be in a larger space with different light and different sounds - the cars passing just 15 feet from the window, the sounds of laughter from the parking lot below, the occasional shout or screech of tires as someone tried to make a difficult turn out of the River Inn parking lot. Most of all I noticed that I am much better at just settling down and doing the work than I used to be. And that in a studio that is just a studio - no dishes in the sink, no laundry to wash, no internet access, no telephone, no cell service - the work time is just to do the work. Sometimes the work means putting paint on a canvas. Sometimes it means walking in circles, picking things up and putting them down, opening a book and looking at an image, skimming images in a magazine, looking at paintings from a distance of in a different light. By habit I open the fridge as though something very wonderful will magically have appeared. No, still the same bottles of tap water - the same rack of tangerines off the tree I stuck there two weeks ago - the same small carton of strawberry yogurt leftover from the Plein Air workshop. I open the door and close the door, pour myself water, drink it, and return again and again to the easel. And then at the end of the day my ride comes and takes me home. Tonight I heat up soup from a few days ago and blanch some broccoli - toast some bread and cheese - we eat at the table surrounded by scraps of yesterday, and talk shop about tomorrow. The house is humming a different hum tonight. Or maybe thats Nepenthes upstairs walk-in. Either way, it kind of makes me feel like now I am home I can sit down and put my feet up, hug my cat, and listen to my daughter. The work will wait - it is there - and I am there for it. Sweet.
Posted on: Thu, 18 Sep 2014 02:55:30 +0000
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