Okay, over a month later, I've been exercising. Doing sketches that have turned into little paintings 11 x 14 in (28 x 36 cm) for whatever you are - a European or a Canadian nationalist or a scientist or a soldier or an arch conservative or a collector looking for a standard size frame... whatever (you are).

I prepped 12 (door skin) mahogany panels and inadvertently dropped them onto the drop cloth in an array... the array that comes back to me, again and (yeah) again. You could find one, let us say x 3, y 4.

Why for?

Picture making. Why call it "art"?

Let's not think like that.

I've set up my Julian easel in the studio pretending that I'm back in the La Cloche Mountains, paddling, portaging from lake to lake. I got all the windows open here, in my studio, the breezes blow. Things are moving like that garbage bag liner wind motivated.

When I was there I think I almost died.

Click on this water colour sketch I did back then and there.


I almost (almost again) got the sky burial I've been wanting. Life and death is everywhere, nothing special. LIfe thrives upon death. I don't want to be separated from the earth. Separated from life in death. You might be an undertaker measuring.

Now, here in my studio with iTunes over a Bose (Cab Calloway - Corinna) it's become a theme. Old stuff. Grist for the mill.

I am working on another show, "By Lake and Stream". I've created an array on the drop sheet of prepped up mahogany panels given a tooth of marble dust so I can go on with it.

I like painting on stone. Reminds me of lithography.


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