Next week, the 17th, I leave for the Rensing Center in South Carolina, being the wimp that I am, this is terrifying. I shift in and out of thinking to make check lists, walking into another room to move papers around, remember to make check lists suddenly bodily functions, than it's time for bed, my favorite bodily function. So there is no list yet. What would be in this list? Oh you know, stuff like bring your wallet, dictionary of knots and orajel. I'm congratulating myself for starting the list. Fucking dork. . . .
I've been working for my mother the past few weeks finishing furniture. I'm so close to my studio, but covered in futility and sawdust it is so far away.
Here's an ink drawing from last night's model session:
It is incredibly creepy when you maintain direct eye contact for the entire length of the pose. Don't your eyes hurt? Maybe a wink to let me in on your artist trolling? Can't I scrutinize your body in the comfort of my activity? Now you get dots for eyes instead of a nose. As my therapist says: Don't cut off your nose to spite your face!
(the girl who couldn't maintain eye contact)