Transformation

More snow, but D made it in. We went to Market Street for coffee, and Loretta made us a breakfast wrap (one, cut in half, is a meal for two) that was outstanding; bacon, eggs, mushrooms, peppers, onions, and a pile of cheese. Thus fortified, we scrubbed the back hall, the last three hundred square feet, the dirtiest by far. Another six buckets of water, then we mopped the entire gallery again, another four buckets of water; then we picked small pieces of debris off the floor. I carried a plastic Kroger bag, under my belt; both of us knelt often, to scrape hardened unknown substances from the grout joints. Most of them, I think, are deposits of solidified cup-cake icing. We're both in great spirits despite two marathons in two days, because we want to see the finish, see if our reasoning, about this particular task, was on target. Crap, embedded in the final glaze, would be a tragedy. Locked in forever. So we are meticulous. Dues for Allah, a few glittery sequins escape notice. They're part of the permanent collection now. I cut all the edges with a foam mop and D uses a virgin 20 ounce Standard to spread the product. Terra-Glaze is an acrylic polymer with an ether dryer. We shouldn't lose many brain cells but we might fall asleep. After lunch, we started the application. There were some streaks in the first coat, which we were expecting. D was good feathering his edges, and we applied the second coat in the opposite direction. The whole project came together. The floor is beautiful. A stunning piece of work. Another example of Bridwell's Law #1, you take the worst thing on the list, you make it much better, and everything looks good. I'm surprised it's not my idea but D wonders if there might not have been a cubic foot of dirt. We could have settled the rinse water, then strained it, formed the residue into a block. Specific gravity probably close to sand, It would probably stick together because of the icing (after 28 days, icing becomes cementitious), what a cool object that would be. Pegi wants me to do another show, and I think it'll be about specific gravity, still on the drawing board. Which is a curious phrase for me to use, since I don't draw and seldom keep notes. But I'm thinking about it, in those dim dark recesses. Usually it's Linda that points out where I was going, she's an actress and understands almost everything is theater. Sometimes Barhart hits me from behind, music (and smell) can trigger events. Even a single word. Adumbrate. For instance. I'm tired and sore. I'm going to ingest some legal drugs and go to bed. Fuck a bunch of causitry. Causealitry. A dozen different spellings, I only give you the most recent. Casual. Nothing we could book him for.