Originally Published Friday, June 14, 2013
When the workshop ends, I will have a stack of prints. I'll scan some when I get home. But it is slow work to produce them, and I don't have the necessary resources to make them on my own yet. I will try to find a press I can use until I can find a used one cheap enough to buy. I will have to alter my studio quite a bit in order to do the process there. But I am willing. I am pleased with what I have learned to do. When I go to NYC in a few weeks, I will be looking at the art with a different eye.
I was nightmarish last night and did not sleep well. Maybe not at all after two. Sometimes I think this is all I have left, that the rest of life will be this way. Babies dream. But I did dream, too, last night of all the new art I could make. I will need to see differently than I do now. The thing I am most inspired to do leaving here is to work more at everything creative. Day and night.
Wait. . . I do that already. I will do it more profoundly. Yes, that is it.
After the workshop, I will head up to Durango. I don't know how much I will be able to post for the next few days, but I should have more to report, and maybe I'll take some pictures, too. My only venture out this week was last night's dinner. I went downtown and ate at The Shed which was on everybody's list of recommendations. I sat at the bar and let the barmaid order for me since I didn't bring my glasses. I sat and listened to the conversations around me. On my right elbow was an older man (my age) in a black cowboy hat and a starched cowboy shirt button at the wrists. Snapped, I should say. He was chatting up (well--"chatting" may not be the appropriate term) a very big breasted blonde in a very low cut black dress. I noticed she wore long, red fingernails. She was telling him all about herself, down to details of her divorce and her relationship with the ex afterwards. She was an estate attorney and she traveled all the time. She shared details of her clients and their dealings with the courts. Soon, they were showing one another pictures on their iPhones. The cowboy was showing pictures of cows--I shit you not--including his prize bull.
Next to the large breasted attorney was a high school teacher. She was chatting up some fellow around the corner of the bar. I couldn't follow their conversation as closely, but they were looking equally intense. The two barmaids were talking to a waitress who was having a crisis apparently over a customer, so they poured her a drink.
All you have to do to be a writer is get out. People want to tell you stories. Well. . . nobody was telling me a story, but I was able to hear some anyway. I will need to find somebody to listen to. For you, my friends. I'll do it all for you.
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