A little sketch drawn this Friday, from a concert where Science married Music, featuring the gentlemen of Tona Serenad as DJ:s and Ms. Thi-Lot on the... now let's see -- Laboratory Harmonium? Chemistry Organ? That is, she had boiling retorts and laboratory thingamajigs and other noisy toys, and with merry and very musical disregard for their actual sounds she sampled and filtered them around into some weird kind of beauty... The result was no less strange as many of the noises were engaged in intriguing chemical reactions even before they were turned inside out. This singing lab was served with aforesaid vinyl on the side, harmonies from the fairest reaches of Outsider music. An interesting evening!
Sketching like this is utterly important. It's not merely restlessness. It keeps the hand a-going, it shows that the cogwheels are still spinning all right inside the artist, despite all evidence on the contrary. It is said that old Monet's hands trembled every morning -- of fear. What if this is the hour when I can't paint anymore? Will this be the day when I lost my main excuse to exist? -- No laughing matter. My oil painting lay low until recently as Life was standing on its head, Thi-Lottied inside out, and it was a blessing that I could still draw, paper or Photoshop didn't quite matter. My hands didn't have to tremble.
Nevertheless, it was a good day when I forced my way back to the oil tubes again. A small but important slice of my Soul was found lurking inside that half-dried Cinnober Red; I have yet to find the tubes where Hope and Self-Esteem may dwell. Perhaps in that old Emerald Green...?
Above, recent microscopical blossoming in oil, quite resized, and below the relieved artist -- digital.