Canvases arrived. They claimed to be top quality but weren't, as I must have known from the price. So been gessoing and adjusting stretchers, they'll be OK but annoyed with myself for being a prat. Also smaller than I thought. I knew the size but, lordy, my relationship with numbers is dreadful.
Now got 5 small canvases prepared and 10 50 x50 - and Bob returning on the 4th. Robin arriving on the 3rd.
Ah well, life is long. I'II have time to sort a new motif.
Flattened by a tummy bug which is quite reassuring (now the worst is over) as I couldn't think why I felt so bad. Tired and achy. Followed by vomit, shits and temperature. Now just tired and able to rest. How lovely - all that worries are the parrots, who got put to bed by 7.00pm last night and have had little company all day. So; no work done. Though did some preliminary stuff on 5 little canvases yesterday, still waiting for the new canvases to arrive - dec 2cnd latest date.
Dawdling over everything, come to think of it. Living alone and at a time of isolation means fluctuating between panic and acute non-urgency, it seems. Great zoom last night with cybersoc, its clear they are not holding their breath for my arts commentary - enough on their hands- so can relax on that front.
Bob made it to blighty, safely, late, so can relax. Finishing up some stuff because, lordy, haven't got any other canvas. How stupid is that - not to stock up before a confinement. And I've overpainted all that I want to overpaint; but can probably find more.
Pretty busy here trying to get Bobs journey sorted and everything in place for his absence. Found time to savage the refugee painting of a few weeks ago - starting to restructure - and planning to junk the second self portrait. Enough already.
Pressing on, between elation and despair, as these things go. Realised that the sense of familiarity was nothing to do with the fact theses are self portraits, but that they are like the work of AOS, Austin Spare, and artist that interested me a decade ago - until I read his written works and looked at more illustrations. I dunno; of course all artists have to be self-indulgent or nothing would get made but there's a fine line. Not too fine, in his case. Maybe not in mine either.
Actually started a new painting yesterday. Time for some self-portraits.
But what with Bob being (literally) laid up, there isn't a lot of time. Have made a start and have a functioning art-head.
After huge deliberation, got out two blank canvases. Looking at them.
Running about between times looking after poor Bob. And dealing with the astonishingly awkward editors for my paper (=copyright issues that are manifestly ok, parts of the text that are self-evident), worrying about new paper for zoom lecture, and more pleasantly, playing chess on line. Surprising how much head-space a series of moves can take.
Got to get Bob out for exercise now.
Still nursemaiding... did I mention that Bob is hors d'combat? Back totally gone and he's out of it on painkillers. Mercifully have got an app for him on Weds with his osteo, miraculously in the covid crisis. Might make some studio time today if I'm cunning.
