I seem to have forgotten how this thing works. This thing I speak of was once a very hard thing for me to say. Blog? Really? Couldn't this new medium I had so much faith in have a less ugly name?
Journals on the interwebs.
What is the point of a journal?
Do you really want to hear about my new obsession with plant torture that fulfills my aesthetic?
Today I bought three dwarfy mountain pines from a local nursery. They were sickly globes at three dollars a piece. I took them to the studio, posed them, trimmed them, and planted them in a gutter.
There were so many more important things I should have been doing.
For one thing, I should have been priming panels for my Introduction to Painting class that started yesterday.
After messing around with plants, soil, and three dimensions, I eventually got around to laying some ground on 20 panels.
There is so much to talk about. . . it has frozen me. For one thing, my studio mate can't stand my fluorescent tubes.