Last week I started at the Atlanta Center for Contemporary Art. My sister is here, and looking for a job. Jim Price passed away during the weekend. The terrain is shifting, and it's not sure certain where the new mountains and oceans will lie, and what will be folded under until next time. At least my studio is now fully funtional.
I can't seem to get started on the next series of larger paintings, although force of habit has already built and stretched the first one. It's ready to be touched but there's just too much going on, with all of this new information bombarding me and the sun beating down all day. I know the figure is becoming more important than an empty environment. I know it's been lonely working on these so solitary things this last year and truth told it's got to me, and the aftermath of invisible tranformative snaps are in the air. I need to get my camera out, although the whole process seems recessed and less acessible, and a new method has yet to become clear. The collages were so attractive for a while, but do not translate as paintings as the frustration of little tiny details distracts from the overall flow of composition. ?Arggh.
