So many Fridays

Every time I turn my attention away from my day job, I realize that another week is receding into the rear view mirror, and I’m still on page 49 of my book.

Today was another busy day. I rewrote one of last year’s assignments to make it simpler. I have a tendency to believe that everyone’s as enthusiastic as I am and I end up overloading the assignments with too much good stuff. Hey, I’m a cockeyed optimist who believes that if I like it, someone else will like it.

So, to work with those unlucky souls who are just going along for the ride, I have to rework the project so that it’s more appealing to other people. Simplifying things isn’t always a bad thing. As I’m rewriting the project, I see that it will be even better than last year’s version.

To reward myself for working so hard on other people’s projects, I’m going to indulge my urge to watch some British cooking shows tonight. I’m proud to say that cooking shows are one of my many guilty pleasures.

August 21, 2021 -- Chore Day and the Impossibilty of Art

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Today’s chores, vacuuming and laundry, went smoothly. Every week I do the same chores and consistently get a sense of accomplishment from them that I rarely get from my art. When the house is vacuumed, it’s vacuumed. When the laundry is done, done. Art — my art a least — is never finished. Even though I pronounce it to be “finished”. I can always find something unfinished or mal-finished about it. My obstreperous art and its frustrations help me to be grateful for completing simple, manual tasks. Art is an unrelenting task master. The way things are going, I don’t expect to ever be able so say, “That is a perfect drawing.” Then again, one of the things I love about Art is that it will always be challenging, a mountain of unlimited height, always there, always alluring, always tempting, always elusive. That’s just the thing I’ve been looking for.