portable studio
The Artist’s Studio
Up at our timeshare condo I dream about being in my studio. One woman said, “ first you say you like fancy food, now you tell me you have a studio—how French of you!!” . A lot of people were coming to visit me there, which made me uncomfortable.
Steve and I took a short vacation to Lake Tahoe and the California Gold country for a few days. It’s a nice break from my studio and I hope it helps give a perspective on things. The night before we left I stopped by the studio to clean some brushes. I guess Steve hadn’t been there in a long time. He commented on all the progress I have made. But to me, I don’t see it. I feel slow as molasses, trudging along on the portraits, never there enough.
On our vacation I brought these supplies: several sketchbooks and a cigar box of colored pencils and books, lots of books. I finished the great book Canada, by Richard Ford. Also The Artist’s Voice, by Katherine Kuh, which I picked up at the Norton Simon long ago but never managed to read. (Truly, artists “on their art” can be pretty boring.) But I enjoyed Stuart Davis-love his collage looking work. Mark Tobey, who did those wonderful ‘white writing’ paintings says, ”How we believe and disbelieve is mirrored in the art of our times”. Something to consider about the hasty, fresh, irreverent art of today. Having seen the textured metal work of David Smith at LACMA this year, I had a knowledge of his genius. And the amazing stone table by Noguchi at the Weisman Foundation I saw last month makes me want to learn much more about him. There is progress in my art appreciation, always.
I carted along two reference tomes I love: the History of the World in 100 Objects, and a book of portraits, just for inspiration. I brought A walk in the Woods, by Bill Bryson, which I picked up at my father-in-law, Dyke’s, it’s a laugh out loud book.
We even picked up a freebie (from free books box) at a espresso cafe across from Mono Lake, a Jo Nesbo. But both of us are disappointed in it, we were expecting great Swedish mystery, but neither of us care to be with the character or his trappings: great corporate success and greed.
Downstairs by our luggage I see that Steve brought along Proust, Swann’s Way. “You’ll have to be snowed in all winter to finish that,” I tell him. I see we also brought Moneyball, on my want-to-read list.
I drive down the hill (our condo sits up high with a view over the vast lake), to my favorite place—the library at little Sierra Nevada College. It’ s a gem, all glass and wood in a gorgeous, environmentally creative design. That’s it, the little picture at top.
I browse the books ( a rare delight –being able to browse) and sit down to write in my journal. I fantasize staying here for a full winter season (just one) to read and write and draw to my heart’s content.