April 5, 2009


Painted at the studio three days in a row. This afternoon I finished my first full work done under J’s tutelage. He is thrilled by the effects he gets from following the techniques of the Old Masters. I am less thrilled than he-- preferring greater purity of color, a lighter palette, and perhaps a clearer line–but that his example has revolutionized my work cannot be doubted. I have begun again cataloging what I have done, as though the whole enterprise started today.

Palm Sunday. Every four years the man in the loin cloth shows up, dropping the loin cloth and running away naked when attacked, and every four years I wonder, “What’s up with that?”

This weekend may be the first time in my life when I have thought that maybe it would be well to be retired and have all my time my own. I need another day in the weekend.

The tree peonies are little fists of gold.

The pleasure of Proof lies in ensemble. When plays fail locally, it is usually because the director couldn’t override bad acting. By “bad” I don’t necessarily mean inept; perhaps “selfish” is a better word. One seizes one’s moment and goes full blast, regardless of what has been happening before you entered the stage, or what will happen after you leave it. You audition for everything and always aim for the top. You collect lead roles as a cad collects phone numbers, piling the conquests up, though you’ve served none of them right.