Thursday morning, I've been waiting for July first and I'm not sure why. Maybe the way it sounds, like tinkling bells in my ears. Not that I want to wish away my life, but something about July the first excites me. I don't know where this wants to go, or even if it want to "go."
The thing about time is, that there isn't enough. Today I would like to be in the studio, following my own path, discovering answers to my own questions, but, not today. Today I have to go to the gallery, so first things first. Perhaps this afternoon will be my own.
I am thinking of a quote by Meyer Schapiro, "...the arts have become more deeply personal, more intimate, more concerned with experiences of a subtle kind."