Today in me and fine metaphors abounding: above, fresh gouache on brick from last night, below same brick this morning dried. Regardless of worth or merit, nothing I make retains its peak color dried
Only using brushes now for undercoating, rest of gouache and watercolor ink washes delivered by pipette onto wet canvases (undercoating on brick displayed here pipette-delivered). For example. For example. You didn't look. Neither example as bright and vibrant as when wet. Can't stop making them despite foreknowledge they will dry to fail, only door to peace of mind at end of day I have to myself now
THE HISTORY OF MY LIFE
Once upon a time there were two brothers.
Then there was only one: myself.
I grew up very fast, before learning to drive,
even. There was I: a stinking adult.
I thought of developing interests
someone might take an interest in. No soap.
I became very weepy for what had seemed
like the pleasant early years. As I aged
increasingly, I also grew more charitable
with regard to my thoughts and ideas,
thinking them at least as good as the next man’s.
Then a great devouring cloud
came and loitered on the horizon, drinking
it up, for what seemed like months or years.