So, the studio work.
The last of Hol's things have been moved. I've been scrubbing the floor, moving items, deep cleaning & designing in my head. Trying to get a feel for functional arrangement of flat surfaces. And looking at all my gack displayed on shelves - wishing it would just all go away. Like oil painting crap. Oils are tedious, touchy, and one has to wait for them to dry before proceeding. Most of my images are personal & therapeutic for ME - and I'm seldom that distraught anymore to bother with the lovely, expressive "get the composition on quickly with passion" phase. One canvas in 30 years? Hmmmmmmm. Perhaps it's not worth it keeping all that around.
Like my old etching zinc plates; poundage there. I don't have a press (studio floor wouldn't hold it anyway). And the ventilation requirements far exceed the building's design. Before moving to the beach, I invested in a nice watercolor taboret. Even back then, the last time I thought I had time/interest in making art... I was extremely tentative exploring that medium. And ended up back with my paper & pencils; occasionally pastels. Which felt pretty good. And I have done quite a bit in that medium; even lately I finished a portrait of Mike.
A lot of Hol's friends are artists. And one thing I've noticed about that generation is that it's almost more important that they IDENTIFY as an artist -- as make art. There is one exception; the former photog who's been making collages of disposed cigaratte paper/filters. He's been regularly producing pieces, albeit it may also be a form of art therapy for him too. The work/style is evolving, I can say that for him.
As for me, I never made a big deal out of being an artist. The label is almost a stereotype and people regularly told me I wasn't a "normal" artist. LOLOLOLOLOL. You know, raising kids, driving boys to soccer practice, making meals at normal times and paying the bills on time. But I never let the identification go. It was always something I could "fall back on" when I got too old & decrepit to be of much use otherwise. So I saved all those tools. Drug 'em around move after move. And now, I just want them to go away.
It's like armor that's outlived it's usefulness. It's in the way. Of what I don't know yet. Like having long hair down to my butt, that took a long, long time to grow; eats up hours a week taking care of it; creates tension headaches from the weight and is like wearing a wooly mammoth in the heat of summer. It's in the way; not functional; serves no purpose; takes up space. If I keep my watercolors, papers & pencils - I can still make images. Been watching some bookbinding vids too. I learned that one summer before my senior year and made a few books with fancy pull-outs, die-cuts, all handprinted. I have linoleum blocks & tools & inks. Could still print that way.
But the things I know about sewing and needlework seem to be more valuable in the society we're transitioning to. Useful. And it was my first creative medium. And there seems to be rising energy in/around me to just dive in and revive the old studio motto:
I know by going where it is I have to go. (Theodore Rothke)