Studio cleaning continues, very very slowly. Breathing a bitch. Am I suffering for art or real estate? Binned all the rolls of old drawings I could find, going back years - more to do - I don't need anything that is finished - or is just bad. Some of them got saved because they are big bits of nice paper and I thought to work on the back. But I haven't. They can go, I won't live long enough to do them.
Pluses; my book is selling. Small regular trickles with odd lurches (= seven on xmas eve, whats that about?) Most cheering though riches do not follow.
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