A hairs breadth from finishing drawing. Want to fiddle with the foreground and trying very hard to prevent myself giving it a lightly-coloured wash. Hands tingling but workable; shoulder sore but bearable.
Stopped mornings work early to go and pose with other friends for Rolands photos - he has some vision of a shared and improbable past - is perhaps making a calendar. That was fun, being told what to do and seeing mates.
Later had another interview about my father. Much as I love talking about him I really shouldn't have let myself be suckered into reading a poem. Can't read them without weeping and sure enough, I wept. Not a pretty twinkly tear but the chocked up snotty stuff. They (being American) thanked me for 'sharing my vulnerability'. Dreadfully draining.
The paper is now looking as if its been flayed. Have to stop soon or it'll go through. Nice surface though, forgotten I'd used wax as a retard before I found the latex and those marks are the ones that actually protect the paper from my heavy-handed abuse.
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