clear weds

Walking last night, saw what to do about the large canvas. The carousel idea is OK but focus on the inside of the roundabout, the figures, and they should be of the dance macabre tradition. Remembered the poem I wrote as Stafford was dying; 'in the palais-de-dance macabre.'

The most amazing smell walking last night, between sawdust and pine bark resin with a hint of a green plant I don't know the name off - used to grow in front of the cabin on the field. Can still smell it. Thats what gave me the direction for the picture, how weird that it should come through smell - perhaps the other senses are too oppressed.
Cold night, big moon; threat of asteroid passing between it and earth. It didn't. Gave a good sense of space though.
I have a clear day.... start at 8.00am

Later, lunch, 1.30; the painting is pretty well in place, or nearly. I had been thinking that a bishop was essential - they are always featured in dance macabres and I like the idea, as in chess [ - should all the chess pieces be in? they slide in anyway perhaps, will check- ] anyway got the bishop in and then tried to find the poem (palais-de-dance macabre) and can't. I know exactly which notebook its in but can't find it and didn't want to waste too much time looking. Remembered one reason I used that title was that because in the Palais poem people are puppets dangling from life-support strings, drips and so forth; used one of the carousel slots to take a wheelchair plus a stand with drip. Astonished that it immediately housed Stafford - last time I saw him, I guess. Have changed it so its less obvious. Too awful.
The bishop developed the face of Micheal Jackson and Ive changed that too but let the idea stand - in fact dropped using the screaming clown and made the bishop clown-like. Has Chapman brother/Goya overtones which I'II try and loose, if possible. They have rather covered that area though, with their Insult to Injury .
Took coffee with Kat at 10.30 and an American came and joined us at our table. Used her face and sunglasses, T-shirt, for the figure I wanted of a woman, a 'Marylin' which was actually her name. Have developed her t-shirt to represent the chakras. She was called here, she said, by Mary Magdeline - these people are called Magheads here - sweet if looney.
Got one major slot left - that was to have been the screaming clown - plus a space for death or perhaps a woman sweeping. Also there is a hen across the front which needs a child riding it. Using Bella, my fave hen, as a model but lack a child... maybe a miniature adult.
Drink tea, siesta, try again.

Later, dreampt myself to the hospital where I last saw Stafford. Bits of it were shut down, bits of it were going to be closed, like the space where the hyberbaric oxygenating chambers were. No dream, in real life. Creepy. I found a closed off place where no one went, with a functioning bathroom - I used to write there in total calm and safety. What a weird hospital, it had so many levels it was like the human consciousness - coffee at the entrance, doughnuts, a little restaurant oh lots of stuff came back to memory. Canada. Glad I cant find the notebook of poems nor indeed the big book of drawings of his dying. (Put that away somewhere because I didn't want to see it) Came up with a useful figure from my siesta anyway, a ballerina. Tied in with my long friendship with Stafford. The painting is working well though fear it will need children and don't want to do them. Can I propose their absence in some way? Bishop needs one on his shoulder, chicken on his back, ballerina on skirt, Marylin on chair.
Some time tomorrow morning. Out tonight. Bugger, late.