Tuesday, February 26, 2008


Really pissing around on this one now. I'm finding any reason I can to avoid working on that lower left hand corner.

Monday, February 25, 2008

Walked to and from the studio tonight. I left the apartment around 4:30 and got to soak in the lovely yellow late afternoon light. Only about two hours in the studio tonight, mainly focused on some ceiling rendering. Found a new album to obsess over: Fela Kuti's Live! with Ginger Baker. (I can't seem to figure out if Ginger Baker actually played on the album, however; the Wikipedia entry is kind of vague.) I'm surprised I like it since I've always intensely disliked Cream and that whole psychedelic blues jam junk. Of course, this is nothing like Cream. (Thank God.)

Had an atrocious night's sleep last night. Less than two hours scattered over the whole night. Went to bed after midnight and woke up at 1:23 am and couldn't fall asleep again. I read until 6 am or so with several aborted attempts to doze off. No luck. I had to call in and work from home. I feel like such a burnout when I do this but the commute to White Plains becomes even more excruciating with very little sleep. I wish I could get on top of this insomnia. I'm dreading going to bed tonight and facing the same experience.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Walked to and from the studio today. Filled in some ceiling. And then left.

Friday, February 22, 2008


Okay. Worked for a bit tonight but not nearly enough.

Walk to the studio today through the "winter storm"...got a little wet, slipped on a lot of slush, etc. Ate some kim bap. (Again with the routine. No winter storm will stop me.)

In around 2pm. Worked for a few hours. Was coaxed into some beers. Then Teddy and I went to Jackson Ave Steakhouse for food and beer and liquor. Woo.

Thursday, February 21, 2008






Worked from home until the early afternoon. Walked to the studio. Stopped by Oh So Good! to get my kim bap fix. (I am frequently staggered by my ability to adhere to the same routine for weeks, months at a time.) Only about four hours in the studio tonight with a lot of not-working going on...flipping through books, making phone calls, organizing things. Lazy lazy lazy. I'm stalling now. I'm fussing over little details to keep from making a firm commitment to a large chunk of the drawing. I'm excited by the potential for this drawing so I've got to push through that crap. I can't let that happen again tomorrow.

Left the studio at 7 to meet Heather and help her move out some crap out of her apartment that won't make the move to Chicago. I was rewarded with beer and Indian food. Came home to watch Godzilla v. Gigan. Looks pretty terrible so far. I'm very excited.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008


Out last night at Carmine's. Heather is moving back to Chicago, my adopted home. I hope it treats her half as well as it treated me.

Today. Ah, fuck White Plains. Cold, sometimes sunny, sometimes cloudy. Dug into Reitschule on both the ride up and the ride back. I've been convinced this is the perfect song for about 18 months now. However, I'm doubly convinced it's the perfect song for riding commuter trains. Especially right around the 6:20 mark. Buy it if you can (it's available on iTunes), ride a commuter train and get back to me. Okay? If you're taking the Harlem line, make sure you wait until you've passed the Fordham stop before you get into it. Otherwise, it'll lessen the impact.

I went to the studio for a few unproductive hours. Saw both Teddy and Steve; Steve brought beer. Teddy left and I forced Steve to listen to Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On"...although I'm pretty sure he fell asleep. Left the studio, walked to the train and entered the station at 23rd/Ely. A V was parked on the platform with the "Not in Service" sign up. Not 20 feet behind it was an E train. I've never seen two trains so close together...a sure sign of disaster. So I walked the length of the platform, shot up the stairs and exited onto Jackson through the lobby of the CitiBank building (or however they're branding themselves) and walked home from there. As I passed through Queens Plaza, there were dozens of cop cars, ambulances and fire trucks. They all peeled off one by one as I approached so I can't imagine anything too terrible happened.

I caught the very beginnings of the lunar eclipse during the walk home. It was overcast but lightly so. Plenty of thin clouds that dimmed the moon but didn't hide it. Made dinner and read a few things. Went up on the apartment roof twice to catch the eclipse. Beautiful. The first time I can remember the moon looking like it had volume rather than resembling a flat white disk. It was too cold to watch the whole thing but I saw good chunks of it. (I took photos but they all came out like crap.)

Monday, February 18, 2008


It was freakishly warm today. 65 or so. Warm, breeze, gray and cloudy. Some sunshine shot through but not much.

Again, spent the whole day in the studio. Walked over, arrived around 10:45 am. Stayed until after 7 pm and then walked back home.

I'm starting to feel that I could do this every day now. Spend the whole day in the studio, that is. It's an odd feeling, both lovely and scary at the same time.

Still not feeling very writey.

Sunday, February 17, 2008



Eh.

Usual routine: up early, walk to the studio, eight hours. Found a new song: "Right On" off of Marvin Gaye's What's Going On.

I'm not feeling very writey lately.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

View from studio window yesterday around 5 pm. As the plane flew south, it was leaving a lambent contrail behind it in the sunset. In the 20 seconds it took to run to get my camera and scramble back, the contrail wasn't as cool as it had been. (No, I wasn't stoned.)

I was cleaning out my "study" tonight (aka my crap room) and found a few old magazines I'd stored for some obscure reason. I never keep magazines unless there is something I need in them, some story, photo, or quote. However, I don't always have the foresight to mark the item in question so--as I did tonight--I have to flip page by page through the thing hoping that I'll remember what I found so important. Sometimes I can't recall the important bit in magazine so out it goes. Or sometimes I WILL find the quote or line I wanted to remember: it will be some obtuse thing underlined and embellished with a cryptic note in jittery, subway-scrambled writing next to it like "reflect on narrative" or "is Popular Charlie!" I usually toss those out as well.

However, I occasionally save a jewel of an article. One the jewels I found tonight was an old New Yorker dated from November 2005. In it there is profile of the poet John Ashbery called Present Waking Life written by Larissa MacFarquhar. I was early into my second year of grad school when this issue came out and I was floundering. This article was very soothing for me. I connected with the way Ashbery's working process was described, particularly the manner in which he found continuity in his work. It was one of those few times where I've recognized myself in the words of another artist, and I still run some bastardized version of his sentiments through my head when I try to figure out what I'm doing.

He has an indistinct, meagre notion in his head that he thinks might work for a short poem....Or it isn't words that he has in mind but a shape, a hazy sense of the physical thing, the page or stack of pages, that his poem will become.

Or his mind is blank. He hasn't even the germ of an idea but he has to force himself to write something or he'll never get anything done. He stares at the paper in his typewriter and is reminded for the millionth time that one of the worst things about being a poet in that you're confronted by an empty page, a nothing-at-all, practically every time you sit down to write (unless you're in the middle of a long poem, which you aren't usually). He reaches for a book by one of the poets he keeps around for dehydrated moments like this one because they get his poetry going...Music also helps to get things started, which is why he always turns in on when he writes...He doesn't listen to it with his full attention, obviously, but he doesn't block it out either. He finds that the way it contains narratives and arguments without articuable terms--so that after you've listened to a symphon, say, you fell you've understood something but you can't say what it is--makes it similar to his poetry, which makes is somehow stimulating.


This is the part that makes the most sense to me regarding the drawings:

What he is trying to do (and here the metaphors get a little screwy, but these are the pictures that come to him) is jump-start a poem by lowering a bucket down into what feels like a kind of underground steam flowing through his mind--a stream of continuously flowing poetry, or perhaps poetic stuff would be a better way to put it. Whatever the bucket brings up will be his poem....Since he is always dipping the bucket into the same stream his poems will resemble one another, but because the stream varies according to climatic conditions--what's on his mind, the weather, interruptions--they will also be different.

Today: got up early but left the house late, walked to the studio, worked for a bit (forgot to take a photo of the drawing) and then stretched some paper. A big sheet, too, approximately 4' x 8' foot. Not sure I'll be able to finish a drawing of that size by the end of May. But, eh. Then I met Kara at Ruby Foo's for some not-too-shabby tourist sushi, a few beers, and a whole lot of Oprah-esque encouragement.

Friday, February 15, 2008


The Wisdom of Ceilings.

I watched Son of Godzilla last night. Pretty terrible. Well, I shouldn't qualify it that way. It was just terrible. But still compelling in the set design and all of those stupid monsters. I still can't believe I'm watching all of this crap. I'm getting something out of it. I don't know exactly what, however.

Went into the city this morning to stop by the gallery; then walked around the corner and purchased a roll of hot press watercolor paper, tubes of cadmium orange and yellow, and two tubes of black: ivory and lamp; a handful of 4H pencils and some kneaded erasers. Back to the studio around noon and worked all day. Eve came in around 8pm and we left to meet Teddy for Thai food in Astoria.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Can't really tell what's going on yet. Neither can you from the crappy quality of this photo.

White Plains then the studio. I went to LIC bar with Eve for a few beers and to visit some birthday ladies.

Sunday, February 10, 2008


RIP Leon drawing. 2006-2008.

I couldn't take it any more. I just want this thing to go away. I started it in back in August 2006 and worked on it for the better part of a year. It was a mixture of obsessions: my obsession for tiny detail combined with my (long long lingering) inability to let go of certain sentiments and desires. Probably a bad mix. Very definitely a bad mix. I tried to slug it out but I gave up on Leon around June of last year. The drawing sat propped up on saw horses against one studio wall and and stared at me. So today I filled in the five or six figures I'd already committed to and erased the others that were still pencil lines. Then I cut it out and hung it. I'm done with it. Begone, Leon.

Anyway. I'm going try to get to work on two larger drawings simultaneously and see what happens.

Cold front whipped in fast today. It's now officially Chicago cold. I left the house around 5 with the intention of doing away with Leon. The wind was blowing flurries in front of it. These flurries alternated with moments of low golden light and luminous tatters of cloud. I only wish I'd left the apartment thirty minutes earlier to I could've see the whole thing go down from the studio roof. I had to take in what I could from my bedroom window and the platform of the 36 Ave stop on the N.

And White Plains begins again...
Okay, I didn't stay out of the studio today. Afternoon plans with the humans were canceled. Spent the morning polishing off what seems to be (according to Netflix) the last of the Ultraman episodes. Then, the train to the studio (no walking, no excuse really) around noon to cut the drawing off the board and hang it on the wall. After that I cleaned the studio: part of the ritual of finishing a drawing. Swept, stacked up sketchbooks, put reference books away, washed down all of the tables, cleaned all of the brushes and palettes, organized paints and pencils (I tend to develop a nest when I work and all surfaces surrounding the table--tables, floor, palettes, etc.--get smothered with crap.) I also stretched another big sheet of paper. I suppose I'll start all over again tomorrow. Eh.

Left the studio around five to take the E into Manhattan to meet Heather. She's moving to Chicago in a few weeks so we crammed in an evening. Watched the Bourne Condescension (or whatever; the latest one--fine, no complaints but it seems like the first two) and ordered Chinese food. Bottle of Rotari to celebrate her upcoming move to more sociable climes. A long angry fucking wait for the E to take me back to Queens. Up here, download the image, upload the blog and so forth.

Friday, February 08, 2008



Puzzlemeat: Finished. I will cut it out and hang it tomorrow.

But back a bit: I thought I was going to get a decent night's sleep Wednesday night. Home early, no studio, good dinner with a beer. A relaxing evening. I even read in silence reclined on the couch in the living room reading Jose Saramago's All the Names for 30 minutes before I started to nod off. (I love this book. Basic story (with some spoiler)s: Senhor Jose--an aging, mildly nebbish clerk in the Central Registry--keeps files on local celebrities in his free time, clipping articles and photos from mags and papers, a buttressing his findings with info from the Central Registry. While researching for his celebrities, he--through pure chance--pulls the record of an unknown woman and impulsively decided to find out all he can about her. This leads him to falsify letters of authority, lie, break and enter, etc. A week or so into this search, he discovers--again, purely through chance--that the woman has died during his quest for knowledge about her; actually, she's committed suicide. In pondering that to do next--pursue the inquiry to it's logical conclusion or simply give up--Senhor Jose involves himself in a conversation with the ceiling (something he does several times throughout the course of the book.) Here's a sample:

"There is no reason why you should go looking for this woman, unless..." [said the ceiling]
"Unless what?"
"Unless you were doing it out of love."
"Only a ceiling would come up with such an absurd idea."
"I believe I told you on another occasion that the ceilings of houses are the multiple eye of God."
"I don't remember."
"I may not have said it in those precise words, but I'm saying it now."
"Tell me then how I could possibly love a woman I didn't even know and whom I'd never even seen."
"That's a good question. There is no doubt about it. But only you can answer it."
"The idea doesn't have a leg to stand on."
"It doesn't matter whether it's got legs of not. I'm talking about quite another part of the anatomy, the heart, the thing that people say is the engine and seat of affections."
"I repeat that I could not possibly love a woman I didn't know, whom I never saw, except in some old photos."
"You wanted to see, you wanted to know her, and that--whether you like it or not--is love."
"These are the imaginings of a ceiling"
"They're your imaginings, a man's imaginings, not mine."
"You're so arrogant. You think you know everything about me."
"I don't know everything but I must have learned a thing of two after all these years of living together. The great difference between us is that you only notice me when you need advice and cast your eyes upward while I spend all of my time looking at you."

Hilarious. By far the best book I've read in the last year with the exception of Saramago's Balthazar and Blimunda)

But I digress. Wednesday night, I went to bed around 11:30 chockful of sleepy goodness. I don't think I fell asleep--real sleep, anyway--until around 3 am. Not sure how or why this keeps happening. Under the big, cushiony tired part of my brain, it's as if there is a little tiny tape recorder playing over and over again in a loop. Sometimes it plays something worrisome which is a legitimate cause for lack of sleep; but most of the time the recorder just plays something benign--ideas about how I'll respond to an email in the morning, for example. And that little tape loop always keeps me from falling asleep completely. I can't stand it.

As a result of the tape player, the sleepiness was a mighty gravity that kept me around the apartment all day on Thursday. I tried to take a nap around 1 and then laid down again around 5. Neither resulted in any sleep. Left the apartment around 6:30 to meet Anaheed at Westside Tavern (the gayest straight bar ever) for a few beers and then some sushi. Back home early to watch Godzilla vs. King Kong. It's long been my favorite of the genre and it's still as lousy as I remember it.

Today: Had to drag myself out of bed at 9 am. I dispensed with various crap about the house, dropped off my laundry and walked to the studio. Stopped at Oh So Good! Deli for my dose of kim bap. Steve was in the studio when I arrived. He was assembling shelves and reorganizing his space. Set to work and had to put down three or four cups of strong tea to shake off the lethargy. Plowed through the last few bits of the drawing over the eight hours. I think I'm going to take the weekend off and start on the another drawing next week.

Thursday, February 07, 2008


Two more of the replacement monster cups: Giant Squid and Ghost Riders. This was a batch I purchased off eBay. It came with two other cup: Golem (I had this once but it was one of the casualties of time) and Big Foot (Sasquatch) which I don't recall ever owning.

Speaking of monsters, I found this site, Diabolic Monsters, recently while surfing around other monster-related blogs. I particularly like Robot Galáctico, which appears to be nothing more than Darth Vader vomiting blood.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Today was a humid and gray. Muggy, spring-like, uneventful. Tried to dress light but wore one too many layers and was all ooky when out of doors. Clammy. Is that the right word? Slightly sweating and a little too hot when out of doors. That's what I'm trying to say. I was sweating like Homer Simpson. Jesus. You're never satisfied, are you?

Decided to skip the studio tonight for the first time in about a week, maybe longer. Tired of being tired and muddlepated and trying to draw through that. Got in GCT around 5:30, did the usual zombie dodge down to the 7 to find the Queens-bound side of the platform packed 8-10 people deep for its entire length. Given my natural dislike of people, I think I've managed to adapt to these crowds and packed rush hour trains fairly well...but this scene made me a little anxious. That's just too many people and I was tempted to head back up into GCT until the crowd thinned. (Because Grand Central is a pretty desolate place around 5:30 pm on a Wednesday. I love the critch of crickets and an elegiac prairie wind.) But I stuck it out and it only took four trains passing before I could fit myself onto one. 7 to the N, off at Broadway. A quick stop at the grocery for sundries. Home, made dinner--lamb burger and sauteed broccoli--drank a beer and caught up on old shows stored on the digital video recorder.

As part of my diet of Alex Toth, I've been taking on Thundarr the Barbarian lately through the 1 am showings on Boomerang. Good idea, very ambitious--a barbarian, a sorceress and a wookie-like monster travel around a post-apocalyptic earth on horseback, visiting ruined cities (London, LA, NYC) and fighting duels with evil wizards using equal parts swords, sorcery and "super science." I loved it as a kid but it's a pretty crappy cartoon. Even though Alex Toth apparently had a hand in the design, it's clumsy as hell. My biggest problem--aside from the clumsy animation and their perpetually comatose continuity guy--is with the smirch-y shallow backgrounds. Even the worst of the Hanna Barbera cartoons from the 60s (Space Ghost, Dino Boy, Herculoids) had great design and wonderfully executed crisp backgrounds. There was a background, middle ground, and foreground and each had the clarity of a whip crack. In this show, everything is pushed right up into the foreground and it's as if the characters were wrestling (or rasslin' as we say in Indiana) with an avalanche of tarry murk. Watching them is a somewhat tedious assignment but every shows got one element to make the whole endeavor worth it. But I think I might be coming down with Toth poisoning.

Ah. Jeff Buckley just came on the shuffle just now. I went through a Buckley bender back in December. He'd been pushed far to the margins of the listening field for five or six years; just couldn't take him, too loaded, too tragic and sad. (Yes, corny, I know. Wuh wah.) But "Lover, You Should've Come Over" arrived on the shuffle when I was headed up Bronxville for Thanksgiving Nellie and the other Ladies Kurtzman and somehow it didn't bother me: it was, finally, just a great song and not a nail in the skull. It happened to coincide with Teddy bringing into the studio a DVD of a 1994/95 Buckley performance/interview at the Metro in Chicago. (Buckley is UNBEARABLE during the interviews, so affected and douchey, exactly the kind of guy you never hope to be (ahem); it really is almost enough to put you off of him for good. Almost.) So we kept watching that together, kept listening to Grace again and again. Now I'm burned out. But "Lover" is still a great song if you're morbidly heartbroken. Or just like to vaguely recall what it's like.

All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter, indeed. Good night.

(Photo from the Met's Oceanic (I think?) hall.)

Tuesday, February 05, 2008


Not feeling very verbose today. Just tired, like staggering tired. I've taken this herbal supplement the past two night--Sleep M.D.--that is "guaranteed" to correct my chronically abnormal sleep schedule. Well, it doesn't. Didn't. Whatever. I still go to bed at the same time I'm just groggy as hell all day. More so than usual. So. Thanks, Dr. Sleep! Jackass.

Other than Getz, I've not discovered much new listening. So I'm cannibalizing the old stuff. Played The Bad Plus's "Giant" (not a cover of anything, so relax) on both the train up and back from WP. I love that song, love the melody and bass line, tender but also muscular in a way. A brawny ballad. Ethan Iverson's piano on the song seems to owe less to less to a jazz tradition and more to a classical piano tradition. I'm not all that well versed with classical but the architecture seems more romantic and not as swingy (can't find a better word); lots of big, lush runs that are allowed to hang in the air and dissolve.

Also, worked "And Begin" into the rides as well, my favorite five minutes slice of time-warping Japancake-ry (off of Belmondo.) And, again, "Reitschule" by Do Make Say Think. That song never ceases to excite. In fact, & Yet & Yet may be one of the favorite albums of all time.

Still playing around with Love, that Beatles remix album. It's something.

The Contortionist by Mary Ellen Scherl. This is outside the county court building in White Plains. (Apparently, Mary Ellen likes the ladies of the larger variety.) One of the oddest pieces of public sculpture and I've ever seen and certainly outside the mawkish parameters of the surrounding sculptures. (See October of last year.)

Nice pudenda.

Monday, February 04, 2008


Okay. Done by the end of the week for sure. I now realize this drawing has become my "green painting." There is always this thing floating around artists and the art world: the collective wisdom says DON'T make a green painting because no one wants to purchase a green painting. This is an awfully green drawing. I chose ultramarine and aquamarine as the two base colors for this drawing but that aquamarine got very green very fast. It's a tough color to pull off with the watercolor. It requires a fair amount of white to sing properly and--with watercolor--white equals paper which equals a kind of thinness and insubstantiality that doesn't always work. I tried to beef it up and it became green. Dang it. Dang it all to hell.

I gave the Stan Getz/Oscar Peterson album another listen today. I realize that it's a drumless quartet--bass, piano, guitar and saxophone--not a trio, as I said earlier (I think.) Ah, the digital age, the jazz obsessive's bane: no liner notes so I don't know who the other players are. Still a good album, still not quite obsessed with it just yet. But I can see it coming. Watch out, Getzy.

Over the years, I've found that I'm a remarkably obsessive person. Music seems to the healthiest focus for this--the first song I can remember going apeshit on is "The Bare Necessities" by Baloo (?) the Bear from the Jungle Book. I was relentless and listened to that song over and over and over again on a small vinyl 45. (Odd that--30 years later--I end up working for Disney? I was brain washed. Bear washed.) With the advent of iPods and sound-blocking earbuds, it allows the unleashing of a certain kind of molten-fisted fanaticism that is unmentionable and unflattering anywhere else but absolutely what I need in order to make progress of any kind. It works slightly less well with books, movies, art, etc. but it has it's place. And these obsessions play out nicely for the most part--I can get my hands on something, absorb it, grind its very essence into a metaphysical powder which I can then ingest like snuff. I've done my best to keep people entirely out of the obsessive equation, because, unlike books, music, etc. people are fluid things, never quite the same thing from day to day, never something finite and halted in time like music or a book. And, oddly enough, most people don't like to be ground into a metaphysical powder and ingested. Understandable, I think. I've learned (the hard way, believe me) that I should approach slowly, to give people plenty of distance from this ability for obsession. So much distance, in fact, that I come across (I've been told) (repeatedly) (by many people) as aloof and jerkass-y, emotionally distant even. Fair assessment, I guess. However, I've failed a few times over the years and become obsessed with the very rare person. Generally, it is an utter heartbreak and ends in profound self-loathing for myself and alienation of the other person. Those experiences have been the hardest for me to redress somehow, the experiences that have thrown me so completely off balance for years and years at a time. It almost seems impossible to correct myself--or the situation--after those kinds of incidents, you know? But being obsessive and possessing an absolutely endless capacity for returning to the same situation in an attempt to solve it, trying to find the right combination of words and actions that will somehow spring loose that understanding and reassemble the bones of this extinct animal....well, it's unfortunate. For me and for you. My greatest strength becomes my greatest weakness and my orbit is warped by the passing of this malevolent planet (let's call it Obsessia, the Invisible Planet); I just end up drifting deeper and deeper into the coldest, darkest spheres of space. Probably because I'm missing the understanding that's come at the end of most other obsessions. (Mix those metaphors.)

Who knows? Who can find a solution? Not me. What I need is Picard and the Enterprise to haul my planet back to the sun. I'll take Space Ghost if I can't get Picard. That's what I need.

But, in any case, fair warning Getz: you're going down. You're going down, sax man. Quiet nights of quiet stars, my ass.
I like this building. It's one of the few in White Plains I've found that doesn't make me vaguely angry. (I mean, other than all of the terrific parking garages. I love a good parking garage! And downtown White Plains has to so many great options. I couldn't begin to tell you which one pleases me the most.)

This is a fire house. From the look of it, I'd say it was built in the very early 20th century. There are some elements that make me think it's from the late 19th c--the wrought iron elements below the windows, the strange crenelated chunk in the back that overlook the parking lot. (No pictures of either. Suck it up.) But there is something about the brickwork, color of the brick, the roof and the overall lines of the building that are gently Arts and Crafty and make me think it's 1900-20. (I have no valid reason for thinking these things. I just think them because I'm out walking around by myself at lunch and there is no one around to tell me any better. So I become The Authority. And I like that.)

White Plains is now a drag. I was okay with the novelty of it initially--I love walking around a new place, up and down different streets, etc. But I've more or less covered every street I can from the train station to Westchester One (our James Bond-ily named building.) And I have to be tidy with my time at lunch in order to keep up with the work flow and still keep most of my Thursday and all of my Friday to myself. So I feel a little fenced in and to explore further would subtracting time out of my non-WP day. And that's something I'm not willing to do. Hence: DRAG.

Sunday, February 03, 2008


In the studio late this afternoon and left early. Tired.

Should be finished with this drawing by the end of the week.

Saturday, February 02, 2008


Up early-ish today. Breakfast: a small patty of ground lamb (mmm, lamby), two sunny side up eggs with a round of pita while watching an episode Space Ghost and Dino Boy (character design by Alex Toth!) Down to Washington Square/NYU to talk to some people (and stuff.)

Finished talking to people (and stuff) and headed west for Chelsea. It was a mild, sunny day and I felt I should have a dose of Manhattan to combat my White Plains depression. I did the fastest, least-focused run through the galleries that I can remember. I just didn't care; I am feeling more and more detached from whatever is going on now...which I don't take as a bad sign, necessarily, but an indication that I'm falling deeper into the appropriately isolated brain space for making the work. Clementine had some ink drawings up that I liked. Um....I am struggling to remember anything else. Oo, I liked the installation at Goff + Rosenthal, a black string webby thing with a dozen wee charred childrens chairs in the middle of the bundle. Ran into Siena and Nickas. Briefly said hello to both.

After a cup of milky coffee and a black and white cookie (and a good stare at passersby) at 23rd and 8th, I took the E to 42nd to the 7 to Hunter's Point: off to the studio. Worked from 4 to 10. Left briefly to get beer for myself and Steve, his girlfriend and his visitor. They left and loud music filled the air. The Getz/Peterson album was given another run and then I just dicked around for the rest of the time.
Joseph "Kool Aid" Merideth: this is for you. And yours.