September 7, 2014

Walking in the dark of the morning. It’s not exactly raining, but so moist that droplets form on the skin as you go. Last night came curtains of rain against the streetlamps.

Writing with coffee in the morning, then an excellent day at the studio, morning and afternoon, revising and making new. I was happy, though holding the brush all that time wreaked havoc on my shoulder. Certain oddnesses at the studio were explained by the news that M and J are separated, and J is in DC. I was apparently the only person in the world who didn't know this. I had brought my tools to renew the garden, but when it was done, the idea that J was not going to see it made it seem pointless. My horrible neighbor came in for a while, explaining to a client the details of her discovery of the making of ceramic flowers. She’d kept her yapping dogs trapped in her studio, apparently overnight. Me, I was as alone as if I’d been upon the moon.

Looked at the titles of old paintings, now lost in their scores. I certainly painted a lot on themes of Blake