Saving Money

Cushions for the bench that D and I made for the nook in the back hallway, where the doll heads used to live, were going to be fairly expensive. Hobby Lobby was going out of business and D bought a bolt of black 'pleather' for cheap, we had everything else, so I went in today and we made them ourselves. Took just a couple of hours after lunch. In the morning we set the print show with TR. The striking feature of the show is how large the pieces are. The OU print lab is one of the best in the country, and they have some very large presses, the quality of the prints is of the first water. Two Roy Lichtenstein pieces (at $25,000 each) are gorgeous, the registration is perfect. I don't like Andy Warhol, but his two, different colored, prints of an old electric chair, are very good. There's a Jasper Johns, a Lorna Simpson, the Roberts Stackhouse and Motherwell. Going to be a fun installation. I like the work a lot. Good to be back in the saddle, handling art. After these are hung and lighted they're going to have to be cleaned, smudges and fingerprints everywhere. I'll reserve that job for myself. You really get to know a piece when you clean it. Up close, with a magnifying glass, I hold things to a high standard. Another snow storm coming. I drove in, first time since before Christmas, on Friday, but on Saturday I parked at the bottom of the hill and walked in, so as not to get snow-bound on top of the ridge. Still weak, and stopped often, but was still exhausted (though exhilarated) when I got to the house. Got a drink, rolled a smoke, heated up some left-overs, started writing, but I was asleep within a couple of hours. My stamina was deeply tested this past week, as deep as my aspirations could dig. I'd left the radio on while I drifted off, Miles, "Kind Of Blue", but when I got up to pee it was an upbeat South American thing and I turned it off. I didn't want the stimulation. I'm easily overloaded. One Allman Brother's song. Take your pick. "Whipping Post." Dreary day, gray, rain from a leaden sky. I'm fully occupied, under a lap-robe, sipping spiked coffee, reading about the Renaissance. My thirst for information is slightly more than a hedge against boredom. I can do a great hour's talk about the beginning of the Renaissance. A period that could be best described as a bunch of white males with too many vowels in their names. But I'm hard-pressed to find the end. Shakespeare retired in 1610. You'd have to say that the language was codified by then.