The interesting thing about the last few enteries is how the random photo images seem to influence the next days painting… like the wilting flower and the tattered American Graduate Smiley face forced a rework of the beer drinker into a semi platable sad story portait. Other than this I’m watching the Dylan thing on PBS. Every morning I feel like quitting painting and then I paint. Why is it that I love the act of painting but can’t stand making paintings… or even really the idea of paintings?
