Work in the studio is trickling to a slow vibration. I have hours to myself for my work and yet, how very little I actually work. The studio is becoming more of a place for bad habits than a place to paint.
Sometimes, I wonder if I'm just out growing my work space...
Or if I'm just too damn bored with my techniques...
Or if I'm pushing myself too hard...
Or not hard enough...
Essentially, a stupid back and forth of mental dialogue...for hours on end.
And my canvases suffer for it...
My art and how I work...has always hung on a thread. Upon a spider's silk...invisible...a glint of the illusion reflecting and revealing itself off a stray sun beam. In hopes that someone...fearless of spiders...will admire my intricate weaving, rather than destroy it by the sweep of an idle hand.
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