The cowwoman went to the Dr. yesterday. Yes, there was a little infection, and then there are some tests pending, too. Certainly, there are steps to take here. So the whole thing is hopeful of a successful outcome. Just not happening today. I feel really fatigued, like I am hauling around 750 lbs, and the world seems to be behind this haze, not very far away, but not close enough, either. So I stood at the kitchen counter and smeared chalk around on the paper, earnestly hoping for an artful outcome. Here is a portrait of my hairspray, my wrinkle serum, and my jar that holds, wait, I don't know what is in that jar! It was inherited by my mother from her dear friend Gen, who died many moons ago, and got passed on to me, so it is kind of precious in its modest little way, and deserving of being immortalized in a painting. And isn't that strange, calling pastels "paintings"? But that is what they are, you know. The process is very like painting, layers of dark followed by layers of light. Hell, whatever it is, here it is. I'm too muddled to worry about it at the moment.
1 comment:
Don't be concerned over being "muddled." This pastel has a truth and straightforwardness to it that many would envy.
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