I did some work on my drawings last night. Philo, my cat, mewped piteously, wanting to sit on my lap while I was working. He had to make do with the nearby windowstill. There was a lash or two of the fluffy tail my way as I was working on a bit of detail with a brush that has about three hairs on it, but I managed to stay steady despite the attempted cat sabotage.
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CLC and I took a vacation on Martha’s Vineyard last week. In addition to being a Week of Swims, it was also a turning point in getting back to drawing. My mind was clear of daily minutiae and worries and I just sat at the table in the sun and began working, after not doing any art for months!
Even better, upon our return, before a 13-hour day at work, I forced myself to paint, and felt much the better for it.
It’s so strange how one can resist doing things that one actually enjoys doing—like some strange apathetic self-punishment.
I’ve been working in a very safe, decent job, for 7 years now but it has dulled me. I don’t feel motivated to pursue my art making, although I’ve been paying rent on an art studio in DUMBO, and created an ambitious website for my drawings. Every day that passes shrivels away at my passion for creating; but also makes me feel that it is too late to do anything about it, which empirically, I know is ridiculous.

