There is this pressure behind my eyes.
And I don’t have a manicured lawn, or tweed jackets with elbow patches…
And so many things. I don’t have them, but I think of them.
And then there are bits I am collecting… bits
Of wrought iron fences and sheets of plywood sheeting
For the shed in the driveway. It has no walls.
All outside getting wet in this unseasonably cold storm
There is a perfectly round hole in the oil pan of the jeep
where the bolt from one of the rods blew through it with some velocity.
So I think about all the oil that came out of that hole as the car ground to a halt.
Among the broken down automobiles and bits and pieces of old projects in the driveway… there is this absurdity… and I am trying to sort this out.
The lights go out twice. But they are back on now.
But I think about wax dripping down the side of a bottle and oil…
And multiplying every larger two and three digit numbers in my head
Suddenly, that is gone. And I can’t possibly remember anyone’s names.
I think about rendering something… anything
Shape and texture and shadows and reflections
On something that is wet or rough or rusty
And specific shades and what they look like next to each other.
But it is like that. Sort of random.
So I try to organize things into a way that makes sense.
And so I paint them
Mostly of animals.
And I didn’t actually light the candles today, because the black outs didn’t last that long…
But I did read a bit from a history book I got
A section about the Irish girls that died when textile mill collapsed and caught fire
In 1860. 88 died. But several dozen were injured.
And then a chapter in a book on acrylic painting.
But I mostly skimmed that.