Monday, December 14, 2009
Here is a shot of it framed, as I am about to walk it out of the house. Hoarknockle is all bundled up against the ...the ...the...the... I am at a loss for any word strong enough to describe this most malevolent and rapacious chill that sits outside the door in wait of some poor creature. I don't know how the squirrels do it.
I keep looking at this piece and wondering about that narrow line between the technical details of the plane and my artistic interpretation. I believe fellow artists will support my artistic rendition. Its all about who you ask. I have planed an interview with myself for later tonight. I hope to shed light on the exact thrust and thought of this concept and what I had hoped to achieve by it. I have a pad of paper and a few sharpened pencils and feeling quite unusually nervous about the interview. Not sure if I am more nervous about interviewing the artist about this recent work or nervous at being interviewed by a probing person wielding a notebook and sharpened pencil. Lady Sandra may be able to defuse the tension by sitting in on the interview in her red, skin tight leather suit. (I do believe I feel the tension dissipating as I write this)
There is a powerful aroma of mutton soup from the kitchen. Anything to battle the agony of this pernicious chill!
I hear the baying of sled dogs and the crack of a whip. Seems like Hoarknockle is ready to go.
I do believe a bold libation of brandy is justified.