On cleaning

I cleaned my studio this evening -- gave it a good, thorough, deep-clean. Put away piles of materials, matboards, stretcher bars, jars of half-used turpentine. Scrubbed the wood floors on my hands and knees, wiped the dust off tables, thinned the bookshelves of old reading, threw out unwanted materials, tested a new brush cleaner on some stiff brushes. It feels good to clean. This time I did it slowly, without rushing. I'm trying not to rush so much. Life is better when you go slow, but going slow is very difficult.

I haven't painted much since my show opened a few weeks ago. Putting up a show is exhausting, and afterwards I need time off. I worked on my construction job, I spent time with family and friends, I went out a lot. And I met a girl. There was a new girl in my life for two weeks, I liked her, and then yesterday that short chapter ended. Cleaning really feels good. The critics say it's procrastinating, something to make you feel good about not doing your real work, but I think cleaning is part of my real work. Cleaning is the preparation, the first step in the process. Clean and clear the room so you can clear and calm the mind, to prepare for making new work. Cleaning is also good when things end. Maybe what I mean is, cleaning is the thing in between, the bridge between the old and the new.

I'm ready to get back to painting. I have some ideas, but I don't want to jinx them. Not a big idea, but many little ideas. I'll start with the little ones and go from there. I'm taking a break from birds and water and wetlands, going back to another direction.