Too Many Lines

Two Miro lithographs, and a Matta, a Chilean revolutionary, came in today, as tax write-offs, and I liked them. One of them, in particular, a Miro, I found to be conspicuously vibrant. Then a note tonight, in response about color, that mentioned the sheen, when light bounces off a raven. A whirlpool of darkness that runs the spectrum. In town you catch this, late at night, a glimpse, when a streetlight or headlamps glance off the rain or a puddle, there's usually oil involved, and in the refraction there's a mind-numbing blast of purity. Straight stuff, no mediation. Color as the gods intended. Always comes from left field, unexpected, shocking even. Miro gets this, Klee does too. Much later, after the kids are asleep, thumbing through some reproductions, I'm struck with how color strikes chords of remembrance. The color of someone's eyes makes you forget everything you've ever known. Not that I'm a hopeless romantic, but you know what I mean. Tangled up in words. If all else fails, listen to Bob Dylan, change ringing, some sacred harp, then bring it back through Bach. A partita, danced trippingly on the tongue. What expresses it best. Note to self, it's never easy to get back to sleep, especially if you go outside to pee in your underwear and it's cold, come back in, get another drink and roll a cigaret, then start another paragraph. Side-tracked, going into town, as I had a huge quantity of stale crackers and the geese were on my side of the lake. Geese are not nice, every year we have a run-in, but I wanted to recycle the crackers, and I've learned how to feed them. You dump the food on the ground, fifty feet away, and sprint for the truck. Kate Gorman, who we know and love, brought her fabric art, featuring birds, in yesterday and Renee's work arrived today, so we have the upstairs show; and the first paintings arrived for the "Wet Paint" show downstairs. Both to be installed before the 11/11/11 fund-raiser, which shouldn't be a problem, except that D is out-of-pocket, pursuing his MFA. Pegi will probably let me use TR, but he's never hung a show, so I'd have to instruct him, introduce him to the D and Tom system, which involves doing Monty Python skits and shouting numbers. We're not as amusing as we imagine ourselves, but we're damned good at what we do. Breaking in a new person is a complex and lengthy negotiation. Hanging large paintings (these water paintings are amazing) requires two people, and these first four are not backed, so the canvas is extremely vulnerable. They should have some kind of archival backing, because when you actually hang a painting you have your hand on the backside, to establish attachment. Sounds like Harvey's metaphor for something hot and steamy. I just meant, never mind. I had another thought, too many lines and the result is gibberish. Too many times, man, I can't tell you.