With Apologies to Samuel Pepys

The above photo was taken Christmas Eve 1958 when our house in New Canaan caught fire.  My diary burned to a crisp but the firemen saved most of our Christmas presents.  A wise woman, Jane Eager, once told me to keep a daily journal. In old age, she explained, your journal is far better reading than the most delightful novel.  (I inherited her journals, but most of the good parts had been removed.)  I have kept a yearly journal, though not assiduously.  Some years have weeks of blanks.   My 1982 journal and one of a trip to France went missing some years back.   We've lived in this house for 20 years. I keep thinking they must be here somewhere, and periodically, I upend everything in a fruitless search.  I used to have a very good memory.  Now it's sieve-like.  My mother died of Alzheimer disease.  My kids groan when I bring up something from past, (I'm currently reading 1994) but I am  glad I followed Jane's advice.  I just hope I remember who "H", "A" and "N" are.  

Further Adventures

  I know, after watching a man floss his teeth while looking at my art, I shouldn't be surprised by anything one might choose to do at the Torpedo Factory.  But still, I was caught off guard Saturday when a pretty, young woman(NOT pictured above) climbed the stairs to my loft in the studio and  asked with an accent,  if she could play there.    My partner has several tables of blocks that people  enjoy manipulating.  I gestured to the tables and said 'sure.'  Then she explained she wanted to pray.  I was taken aback, but said 'okay'.  My studio faces East, across the Potomac.  She went down the stairs, pulled out her prayer mat and prayed.

After Earl

Graceless

I've always been clumsy. (Not a speck of rhythm. I careen around, launching myself against inanimate objects. Some yield, some do not.) 
This morning I tried to apply gold foil to canvas.  Never have I felt so awkward.  I succeeded in gilding myself, my rug, my burnishing brushes, my computer and everything else within 6 feet of the canvas.  How does one transfer micron-thin gold leaf to canvas evenly?

White Out

Maybe it's the onset of winter, but I feel depleted.  I have painted a lot this year, possibly too much.   Paintings are stacked in the dining room, the basement, and in two studios.  We are, as my husband says, "lousy with art."  Many pieces are at the framer's and frankly, no one here is looking forward to their return.
Today, I covered three paintings with a layer of white.  Fresh start, less inventory. Huzzah.