Woke bright and fresh after disturbing dreams (*) and decided to have a bath instead of going straight to the studio - its one thing to be lead by your unconscious, its another to be bullied by it.
l like the letters, the words, in the picture. It makes it like a German woodcut - a devotional instructive piece. Doesn't actually look anything like a German woodcut though I'm tempted to make the letters in the gothic script, to labour the point.
Had to change the ballerina. She was too human and not in the same class of doll as the other figures. Shortened the body, de-frilled the tutu, exposed more of the wheel chair. The patterning on the carousel is perhaps too strong; will complete and then see, perhaps knock back.
Went to the market and Trebha came back with me - wanted to show him the sunset thief (he liked it) and see if he could read the white tiger/shaman picture (he could, exactly) A relief - no changes needed.
Danse Macabre getting rather muddy in parts, will do what can be done this afternoon and then maybe give it a day to dry. Want to finish before Bob and Clare this coming weekend or I'll loose contact. Though this may not be a bad thing, difficult to know.
Later; took most of the afternoon off in the face of lovely weather and gardened. Then dusted and washed. Then realised I was doing displacement and went back to the studio. Did more fiddly bits, trying to find a way to suggest the decoration of the carousel rather than painting the thing properly, as it were. Karim had said -twice in the week- that I'm too intellectual in my work. (His tactic is to spend 20 mins on a painting, work fast and bold.) Me, I think I'm too emotional. Funny that.
But pleased today, content. Only stopped because I was hungry.
* - saw in a Greenwich publicity booklet a new housing estate where they'd used my paintings from the Festival Hall windows as transparent partitions in the site. I was very cross - no creditation, no permission asked, and I didnt like them. [actually in retrospect they were rather good] Rest of the dream going through old papers trying to find photos of the work to claim them and demand they got taken down. A reference to the futility of my occupations... though the dream wandered off, as these things do, and got less bureaucratic. Cant remember how.
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