Tuesday, March 09, 2004
Mishmash From My Head
I've kept a diary since I was 12, the first 20 or 30 years of which seems to be mostly about boys, and whether this one likes me or whether I like that one better, and why I hate myself. There are rants about Nixon followed by musings about the cute guys I saw at Earth Day. There are rants about Reagan followed by musings about cute guys I saw at Comdex. Also about Bush Pere and cute guys in the Bean Pit at CBOT, but by the time Clinton came around, I think I ran out of steam, or cute guys. These things are not interesting to read in any case.
I wonder now whether my current obsession with knitting sweaters falls into this "not interesting" category, even though I am compelled to tell you that I finished the Left Front last night at about 1:00 am.
Or rather, finished it again, since I had finished it the previous night until I held it up to the light and discovered a glaring mistake -- an extra row of knitting inserted -- just at the bust line, shockingly noticable, assuming anyone might look at my bust, and so had to rip it out. So now have the Right Front and An Arm to do, and then The Collar. You must bear with me.
My aim is to finish it while there is still winter enough to wear it, which seems likely, since it is snowing as I speak and the squirrels are looking in, reminding me it was garbage day today and I neglected to put any out for them.
On the art front: I am working up something about the Milwaukee Museum of Art, which will happen later, and you'll be happy with it.
Painting, printmaking: Winter is hard on me, I admit, though I often enjoy the coziness. Rather, in other years I enjoyed it. After I got my first heating bill this year, I promptly turned down the thermostat to just above 60 degrees and started knitting sweaters. The sweaters must remain this year's paintings, I'm afraid, since nothing seemed paintable this year, and my studio at the back of the house is unheated, i.e. not at all cozy. I have used the steaming tea-kettle method of heat in other years, but this year nothing seemed worth it (despair).
Printmaking seems too public right now. I've drypointed and proofed several plates, but can't get the ooomf to run a series unless I know I have a show coming up. Crass of me.
The poetry, writing part: well, you're looking at it. I used to go to poetry readings (and even give them, and organize them, back in prehistoric days), largely because of the cute guys, if my diaries are any evidence. I can get all landscapey and breathless on a good-color day. I can spit invective and hatred at the Roves and Bushes.
But today, my new spouse (sitting on my lap at the moment, as a good laptop should) and I are content enough to watch the stock market and blog in peace. Ah, the sun has just come out.
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