It's late and my hands ache from building. I completed modifications to 6' x 8' stretcher frame I picked up for free at last year's ArtFields. They say you get what you pay for; and sometimes they are right on.
She'll hold cloth and shape and I'll haul her to the studio tomorrow. I'm building four 6' x 6' frames and forcing myself to work in square. I have resisted it with this body of work and I need to know why. I saw the square shape and I'm going to wrestle with it in the coming weeks. It will be a glorious battle.
Another 18 hour day in a long row of 18 hour days. They blur at times but coming home late with sawdust in my hair and paint under my nails I feel so alive it is hard to wind down. The alternative is not an alternative at all; burn out, stress out, drop out. Time in the studio is never wasted. The exhaustion is always worth it.
I've decided to go completely impractical with the scale of the next few paintings. Damn the torpedoes, we're making epic shit here. The road is long and at times demoralizing and frustrating but I always follow the work. The work knows where to go if I just listen to it. If I make enough noise then someone will eventually hear. I have to believe that or else I would go insane.
In a dream world I would be packing up to move to the Winter studio; somewhere towards the equator and the sea. It must feel so suspended there in the middle of the sun's path. I know I would. A hammock, a terrace on which to paint and little else. Four months of painting as the high sun warmed my bones. It's late and I am fading.
...I just deleted a long rant so it must be time to give in to sleep. Those precious 6 hours, followed by the 9 hours of have to, followed by the all-too-short family time and then the studio. I'm about to be in it. It's on.
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