My materials shopping list now includes: 10m roll of linen canvas, primer, paint, tarpaulin, resin, polystyrene beads, oil, ticking, PVC, bungee cord, a (non-medical) syringe, artificial snow, a ray gun, and assorted wood. That's not all by any means, although I should add that it's not all for the same piece of work. Like I said, barking and/or exciting.
An odd sort of day today. A sudden downpour - out of a clear patch of sky - made the roof so slippery I almost fell. I was soaked through in seconds. Mr Wet T-Shirt, 2011. By the time I reached cover it had cleared, and moments later the roof was dry and I was back at work.
I have been flicking through back copies of Art World. I tend to skip sections of some of the articles, mostly because I'm not terribly interested in the life stories. I did read one today, though, about a startling incident in one artist's life, and the apparently limiting effect it had on his career. That is to say, as a result of how others perceived him subsequently. It just had me wondering how far - if at all - an artist's life should have a bearing on the appreciation of his or her work. Far from clear cut.
For a few years now I have intended to take photographs of some of the deserted petrol stations around here - no shortage of those in France - for a series of drawings I want to do. For some reason I have always run out of time, or not had a camera with me when I passed. One, an Art Deco beauty, has since been turned into a double glazing showroom. I should get my pictures while I can.
I have kept the clock on my laptop on UK time. It is a way of maintaining a connection, somehow. The problem with that is that I forget I am an hour ahead and stay up much later than I should.