At week’s end I have become mentally and physically damaged with attempting a figurative painting education in 96 hours or less. It all came to a head late last night, when just before agonizing demolition, an idea door opened up to me. Not a wall. At my age there are many, many walls. But this time, magic—voila! A door. And just in time.
This morning I petitioned a master of drawing at the college next door for the chance to audit his class beginning next week. He just wrote back the okay. And now I am free to feel once again, and also learn technique that I am quite desperate for. In celebration I turned my self-portraits into energetic joy. I am not kidding. For four hours the brush didn’t stop. The freeing experience was like what an Edison elephant would have felt if the voltage wasn’t maxed, and got to reflect on his euphoria with a box of peanuts.