Horror; this should have been before the last entry but I posted it on the wrong blog, ghastly - just hope no-one saw it;
Life drawing yesterday, Fabienne, fun but no-where; then as I was looking through the pictures I saw some of last weeks, which last week I thought were crap and they didn't look bad; looked through some other old ones of the last several weeks and cheered up. On some sort of sliding scale here - from bad to worse or showing improvement, who knows -
Melusine driving me mad. Yesterday realised I didn't like the surface, I'm using paint like soap or something, scrubbing it in, killing it - its too thin, its mean, unpleasant. Fey, iffy, whatever.
Was going to devote today to cleaning the studios as Bob arrives tomorrow so no work for a few days and it would be good to get back fresh, but but but then I have hardly any canvases and really want to repaint Melusines face - the only part of the picture I have liked to date. Shes too forward, I need a recoil there.
" The greatest mystery is not that we have been flung at random between the profusion of matter and the stars, but that within this prison we can draw from ourselves images powerful enough to deny our nothingness." *
In same book there is an account of a pre-columbian kinghood that somewhat fits my yellow king painting - he is tied to the moon, power waxes and wanes with it, is gilded for the peak of it, strangled if there is an eclipse of it -(p.25)
*(Walter Berger, Great-Uncle of Andre Malraux; p.23, Andre Malraux, Antimemoirs, trans Terrance Kilmartin,(Hamish Hamilton:London, 1968))
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