February 4, 2011

Winter rain. Only thing I could stand to do was paint, finishing two canvas (one actually a work on a fragment of dry wall) started earlier. Onto one I had painted a dancing crocodile, rubbing it out before it was dry. What was that about? The dancing crocodile, unfortunately, still possesses my imagination.

The great pool of water in the middle of my studio floor I managed to ignore

The Gang at Phillips Hall think blitzkrieg firings and unilateral changes of policy make them look decisive. They don’t. They make them look like popinjays.