Green Demon Foliage & return

Here is the garden with studio (foreground) and house (with little tiny kitchen window). The garden reaches out between the two, a demon green tongue grown furry and cocky in the days and days of rain. Everywhere the foliage makes its patterns, overlaying, overlapping, interweaving green on green, lace on leaf, frond on frond, and petals floating, gliding on the foamy tide.




in the midst, a spot of human comfort:




...and then plunging back into green's self:




on the way back into NYC you see the helter skelter of NJ and the promise of Manhattan:




and then the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel:

I forgot!

Clearly, mainlining foliage for several days is not conducive to hindsight reconstruction. I remember that I did go out more than once yesterday. I went up Broadway and into Pearl River where I found these shoes awaiting me. Very sparkly. I might even wear them. I might even paint them.

the foliage

Did you ever have one of those days where you just paint foliage? You know, where you maybe go out once to the post office, but can't remember the next day if you did, indeed, even leave the loft. Like that.
Sometimes when there is such a day I go out later and see everything as if it's a painting.....the stonework of buildings, the fluid melt of traffic, the fabrics of people following their motions, & the sky heaving between buildings.

So, to the foliage--still accruing, curling, blushing unaccustomed color and circling, ever so slowly, the two dancers:



This one is way too dark but I kind of like its before-the-storm light:

faces & places

One of my favorite places is the sun chair--where I sit and look at whatever painting I'm working on. At the moment the view fills the yearning for landscape...






...since this is the view of morning light, horizons mitigated by structure inside (& out)...






But there are faces. This is Indigo and I. She visited recently to attend my son's high school graduation. We had a brief sojourn as exotic women shawled in ancient silks...



Jan Meissner


..and then there are the others, still dancing, their landscape bower becoming ever more complex. The more the detail develops the better I like their dance...

Lynda Barry, Shiva & Kali

In between days of painting I went to see Lynda Barry at the NYC Cantor Film Center. I'm a big fan of her work but have never heard her speak. I didn't realize that I was going to be laughing so hard I would cry. One guy in the audience began to slide out of his seat. She was amazingly perceptive about making art and its biological purpose, the nature of memory and how we react to what we think is real but know isn't.
I then decided to read her book Cruddy which is the only one I have that I hadn't read. It's a full out horror story. Who knew. It smells of rotting meat, train tracks and youth.
She's great.




In the studio Shiva and Kali are still dancing, and I'm still chasing them with a brush...