Spent yesterday rehearsing and refining our performance, this went as well as could be expected.
Today has been difficult, hit with breakdowns, bills, and other losses in this year of woes for the country and world. Our tiny show feels, our tiny lives feel, like a shell afloat in a turbulent sea, reaching for the sun, tossed and beaten by random currents. We are all drowning; the artist's job is to gargle a pretty melody as we struggle to breathe.
The delivery of art for the Art Fair is in jeopardy and will need re-calculation. So often I've had to carry armsfuls of paintings on trains and buses to different events. After 15 years, this process is as Sisyphean and physically demanding as ever. I wonder how much carrying Vermeer and Leonardo da Vinci had to do? Doing this on Sunday, with more paintings than I can carry in one trip, and with strict 20-minute time slots for artists makes public transport impossible.
The show must go on. Let us play.
