Slogging through the Primordial Muck of Tchotchka World


This week seems to be about making headway on a project that seems to have divided, proliferated, grown tentacles and wrapped them around my head. Project creep on a macro level, and I wish there was an antibiotic for it. Outside the birds are singing madly with spring fever and there’s no time to contemplate their lovely loveliness–not until this is done.

It always takes longer than you think the project warrents: whether it’s drawing a face that’s passably pretty or finding just the right butterfly wings to stick between a fairy’s shoulder blades. And the revisions. Oy, the revisions. There are never NO revisions. Right now it feels like I’m running in mud with the goal just past the next bog on the left. I can see it glittering in the mist. The true goal being to pull my boots from this foul mire with a loud sucking sound and to pick up a brush to finish another painting. But the mudflats are flopping with gargoyles, fairies, angels and many, many mermaids, belly up. They pay the bills, they do.

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