Okay, so no photos in here yet, as part of the cataloging process, but I have gone through my fairly sizable collection of paintings to see what I already have, and what is (in my opinion) suitable for showing to the public. Example: Brown-skinned woman in the Temple of Bast painting who still has no nipples - not suitable. Cher with a snake in her hair - suitable. Tree series - suitable. Unfinished and very boring painting of the seaside - unsuitable. First of the Water's Edge series - suitable, I think. And so it goes.
I'm halfway through another of the tree series, which frankly, will make up the bulk of this show (which i'm still waiting to hear back about, but chins up (sigh! that could apply to just me - ugh!) it's going to work out - I have faith) and pondering the possible ways to fill an immense brick wall in a trendy restaurant/bar. Too many small paintings could get lost, but I really don't want to do an entire series of huge paintings, just to fill that wall. The tree series has been a lot of fun - every one is different, even though it's more of a formula than I've used in the past. I think I like working in series - it gives me more comparison/contrast to look at and learn from. The next series will be The Water's Edge, and will be more dreamlike. The title comes from lyrics in Peter Gabriel's song "Red Rain" and has to do with dreams, portents, and a ghost that I am searching for still. I'm still formulating this series; not sure if they might not include mixed media to achieve what I'm looking for.
A Moment's Venting:
On top of these lovely distractions comes the news that my dad has cancer. He's been taking his sweet ambivalent time to tell the rest of the family, which is pretty true to form for him, and I feel sure he's still in the (internally) freaking out stage (pretty sure I would be too). The good news is that the cancer is encapsulated, contained in one area, and the doctors are optimistic he'll make a full recovery, and that's the story I'm sticking to. It is scary to think of though, the physical reality of what was an academic thought - that your parents DO get old, they DO get sick, and eventually, they DO die. You would think at 49 years old, I would have come to terms with the physical reality of this, and I have, kinda. I always thought it would be my mother who got cancer first - I've been preparing for that inevitability for some time, because she isn't in great health, but my dad - he's 78 years old and doesn't look it at all - more like 60 maybe - so it's a shock that he would be the first one to have cancer. It doesn't help to know that his father died of cancer, and that his sister died last year from complications due to esophageal cancer, but I'm trying to remember that his mother lived to be 96, and that he is far more like her than he would care to admit, though maybe not so much now.
Not to worry, dear reader: the basket case of crazy will not be unleashed just yet.
And I will try and get some photos up of stuff that I'm considering for the show in September.