So. The show opened to quiet fanfare, ended with puppets, homeless angels. Abundant sunshine. Ospreys. Beautiful friends. Hothead ladies. Half-mast brunches, I'm digressing.
I feel exhausted. Sleep calls like an old friend I want to shoot shit with, but can't just yet. The studio looks stupid, barren, stripped of children. I've enjoyed clothing, layers, really, unspoiled by paint and sawdust. The broken truck took a few more dollars than I had left, and the morning will find me charming my way into payment plans. I have eggs and beans. Organic cat food. Seven bucks.
A creeping lust to start painting, all over again.
See most of the paintings here:
http://www.ghostprintgallery.blogspot.com/
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