Goings on about the striped room.

Here are some studio shots, in lieu of extensive studio thoughts.
I've gone wood shopping at last and, after extricating the gigantic splinter that bisected my palm's lifeline during the haul home, covered just about every wall and leanin' space in my house with in-progress pieces.

There is something to be said for immersion.

A few years ago I had a dream. In it I was working in a studio where every surface, including the ceiling, was covered with chunks of imagery. Fragments of representational paintings, words that seemed to be snippets of conversations. I felt absolutely right in that room, and felt like it was a microcosmic echo of the feeling of walking down an unfamiliar street- filtering the stimuli, overhearing the chatter, glancing at the powerlines. I'm pleased to find that my now-studio is beginning to feel like the studio from that back-then dream.

Of course, later in that same dream I dreamed that I used some sort of unusual, witchy powers to turn a porn magazine into a big club sandwich and started eating it, all meaty and made of lady parts as it was. Then I began to panic, realizing that to be a true vegetarian I probably ought not eat human thighs and asses. (Please give me some credit for not ending that sentence in the way that I could have.)

Anyway, here's what is here, now...

This guy is still floating around and almost finished:



This guy is barely sketched out:



There is a heap of words, waiting to arrange themselves over your head in an ambiguous speech bubble:



There is the beginning of a woodpecker, swooning and important:



Here is a barely legible close-up of a crow's wing:



There are things on my wall for inspiration:




God. The colors of these walls.