I still owe Lena a painting from way back. We offered to trade in January or February. She held up her end of the bargain, sent me her painting, and then joined the circus. I think she is back now. I know she is painting. Is that her in the background petting the circus dog, doing the handstand, or both?
Here is the rub with Stuckism, or any art that begins with innocence: Taking ourselves seriously.
I would send her that painting yesterday afternoon if I felt anything I did was worthy of persistent reminder. The only difference between the amateur and the professional is that the professional can afford the top shelf liquor to cloud the nagging sadder-but-wiser effect, otherwise known as depressive realism, that left alone for too long discovers a hundred pretty paved roads to self-loathing for every single choppy path to freedom. I know that what I do is very personal, and yet highly…
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