Maybe The Ultimate God is Fate

In the morning the birds talk. They communicate to each other all over the city and in The Studio. Scrambled, coded messages.

The sounds calm me.

What are they talking about?

Georgie and Jessica, my two little nightingales, they have a typical married conversation.

Who should be cleaning up their home today… why Georgie ate most the food again… he never leaves anything for her.. how does he sleep at night… why hasn’t he seriously committed to having babies yet… Georige wonders why Jess never lays eggs… sometimes they forget they are both boys…

I enjoy the fact I have a progressive family in my studio.

Worked on a few advertisements for The Summer Sale at The Shoppe... 37% off $500 or more... because, I'm 37 this year... something good should come from that, I suppose.

I like to take a moment and stare at one object. Break it down into shapes, into lines. deconstruct its color. separate it

from this reality into a 2 dimensional reality.

But it’s still here. It’s still apparently in existence.

Waiting.

Waiting is the most difficult challenge for me. In the past waiting would be something that cause immense panic and the inability to do literally

anything other than wait for whatever it was I was waiting for.

I am waiting now for an important package from America to be delivered.

And the nature of whats inside this package should certainly be causing panic to engulf me, as it is now late… but instead… I am choosing to accept there is nothing I can do. Even if the tardiness or the possibility that this item is lost could potentially wreck havoc on my life until a remedy is found…

I choose to accept fate.

Maybe the ultimate god is fate.

Heat kills.

Literally it can, sure.

I lived in the desert in a south western state of America for 19 years, and every year I cursed the summer. I hated the heat. For 4 of those years, my studio was in the garage - without air conditioning - attached to a house that I inhabited. For 4 years I worked for eight hours a day, painting or sculpting in 110+ heat. It was exhausting. It was miserable.

Or.

At least.

That was my original impression.

I am now inhabiting a home in a city that sits on a piece of the Aegean Sea, a part of the world that is literally opposite where I was before.

Foreign land…. but what’s that? A terrible word that is, . . .

‘foreign’.

Any way.

Now here, my studio, I am in similar conditions. No air conditioning in this home at all.

But this time… I have found a sort of symbiotic existence with the heat.

Sure. It’s miserable.

But the breeze that softly hits you through the window of the studio while you sit and reflect the work you have done for the day… it’s strangely satisfying… almost zen feeling.

The heat makes everything slow. The processor of your mind, over heated, runs at a snails pace… but thats ok.

It’s relaxing.

And after a bit, pop in the shower for a blast of cold water and your good for another hour. . . .

repeat.

I started today, officially, my next series,

'p a r a d i s e o r p u r g a t o r y'.

For weeks I have been going over in my head the layers and the colors... imagining how they will react with one another. Trying to see the finished outcome. It had eluded me the entire time, until yesterday I saw the clouds sort of crack and let the light in. It was relieving but I knew yesterday that today, as I began the work, it would become terrifying. . . wondering if each piece will communicate with the next. . . wondering if as each piece I work on, none of them will capture what I had in mind.

Ideas like this consume my mind until I finish.

It feels good to work like this again. Its relieving that the ideas are consuming once more.

Last year, the move to this place unsettled my studio life. Ideas were almost non - existent. Day to day events overshadowed personal reflection time and the challenge of learning a new language and adapting to new culture really drains the brain...

I'm happy that in this last year, the thoughts have been flowing once more. And in the last 4 months I have finally been ablate pick up where I left off before moving here.

I was scared for a short while that it had left me. That I was finished. I did not realize at the time that the difficulties of living in a 'foreign' country really consume you.

It really wears you out, man.

But the adventure is good.

~m

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