I've run out of ideas.
I've run out of paper.
I don't have the time to get involved in real painting, the kind one does with oils, canvas, easels, rags and the usual things.
I'd like to you know. But that's for after the "book" is finished. I might even do my altarpiece regardless of a church to put it in.
Not now though.
I have to wait a bit to gather funds to buy a nice quart of ink, the proper paper, and a few odds and ends that go with the whole lot.
So, I wait.
Sometimes that's all you can do. The other afternoon while in conversation with Steve Bissette I told him of this strange symptom I've had of late. When one is in process of making art, ideas just seem to come from other directions unrelated to the work at hand. Usually, these are stored for further reference when needed. As I've been working pretty much non-stop for the last two and a half years I'm finding the Wells running dry.
I'm just out of ideas. I'm running short on dreams that provoke art. It's so .....odd.
After this book is finished, I'm taking off for a bit and recharging. I really, really need it.
Today, and most likely for the foreseeable future, I'll be checking lots of books out of the library and keeping to myself.
It's to expensive to go for long drives. It's not gardening season here yet, so, I sleep. Read. Sleep some more.
When I've got the free money, the book gets finished and then a blank period and I start again.
Be peacfull. Read something nice. Go for a walk. Listen to the birds.
They'll tell you stories if you listen.