Dear Others

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?

Blog.

Web-logs.

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.