Decades of drawings finally binned. It's done, done and dusted... could even walk across the room, sit at the drawing table and draw. Slightly light headed with this freedom.
That's not to say I can use it, of course; roof menders, meals to be prepared, stuff.
Have agreed, health permitting, to be resident artist for WOSC at Lady Margaret Hall in Oxford in September. This minutes before drawings turned up from the Burnside Conference in Greenwich, the first time I'd done it: didn't bin them anyway.
Was about to list others and realise I'm in danger of becoming a death cult.
Studio work continues, bafflingly daft.
Shopping morning... then working in studio, so good though still clearing as I go. Just an extra layer of chaos. I like chaos.
And this too - filled a too-big gap with the words from Isaiah, in French.
Despite a sense of anaemia - intellectual bloodlessness, what's that called? - lots of ideas.
Just been to the denuding of Patricia Malfi's studio. Her husband has decided its time to sell so contents can be distributed among artists. Grave robbing. Took her palette knives, loads of tissue paper (really hard to get in France), some oil pastels. Hey ho, they'll be trying to clear mine out soon enough.
Still no product - maybe I've retired - still not sorted the studio.
Woken by the dream, the burnt out helicopter on the roof.
Masses of rather nice prints and gouaches emerged, pretty in some cases and in some cases inks on top of etchings, terribly pretty. Not ready to chuck them. will order some portfolios on line, maybe they exist - the ones I've made in the past and that these things were stored in are sort of crunchy, since I would cut up boxes and glue fabric over them. Not a long-lasting thang. And I don't like them.
It seems of one my asthma drugs, one that works well for me, promotes mood swings, psychotic episodes and suicides. I asked Ian how one might know if one were psychotic and he said, by the trail of bodies...
Miserable day and I just got soaked. Time for a hot bath and a chance to read Ruth Brandons Surreal Lives. Enjoyed it so far, well put together IMHO
among many large drawings is this one of the view from the third window of the Woolwich studio. Painstaking; evocative.
Here's Louix from her performance days ('96 at Fordham Park) She packed in a lot when she was young - which is as well as she was only 54 when she died, at 20.45 on Wednesday 28th Feb.
She'd done some crowdfunding and had enough money to do a few months of touring before the predicted end, but the cancers were too advanced. The plan had been to get here again which would have been just great... but alas.
Our friendship began when we had a shared lover - and turned into a joyful, hysterical, BF -type thing until I moved to France. She came here once and I went to her sea-side retreat once but by then I was somewhat infirm and travel was expensive and hard for us both. We kept in sporadic touch.
Dear Louix was not ready to die. Her daughter had decided it was time to have a child and she wanted to share that with her. Plus, 54... no age really. Ive spent the last few days mourning.
Slowly shifting stuff in the studio. Been binning drawings and prints unless they are portraits.
rather an odd picture of David Walser... and again
Here's Jan
