Poor Little Myy. My sailing oak (small, Finnish and stubborn, hence the Moomin name) is deeply into varnish. She can't get enough.
"C'mon, gimme more varnish! *hic!*"
"Now look, you've had no end of bottom paint, then you had shot after shot of strong linseed oil, as if they were water, you've had one entire jar of my finest Schooner Tung Oil and now you want more... Well, Miss; --"
"Aw, don' be so square, Sir! 'M still thirsty! 'M cracking up! *hic!* More varnish!"
While waiting to serve the next round of Schooner Tung, I made this little sketch, an ecological elegy. Resized details:
We'll see what else I can do as an artist while this is going on. As for City Lights, it has been interesting to see the expression of the accordionist change as pencil and ink give way to oil. Part of the surreal method, I think, is to let your brush wander a bit on its own accord;
-- she's a bit more serious now, I think, and perhaps a bit more serene? As usual, it is you who have to tell me the meaning of this. I can not, must not know.
.
I will understand later. I'll understand what the ringing tones meant, what she was trying to say; perhaps years later, by which time it is far too late to do anything about whatever it was.
Gotta go. There's Myy again.
"Pleeaze... Just one last jar before I go to sea, I promise..."