Thursday, May 3, 2007
I forget things from season to season, year to year, like that I really need to change my scedule to be up early. The evening means too much neighborhood yelling by the window, the kind where you can't tell if its a live argument, the retelling of an argumet, or general conversation. One has to listen to the words, I sometimes think I need to duck. My painting studio is right by the front window. I am easily pulled out of whatever painting trance I muster, in some lower levels of concentration/involvement. Yelling boys pull me out. I feel like I am working directly against the practicality, however marginal, they have going. The news on all day pulls me out. Somehow lately it just reminds me of how futile an exercise painting just may be. The everyman fills all the empty space and the cracks and generally encases me when I move. I cut through as far as I can stretch good graces.
Posted by Natalie Pate at 4:07 AM