work ethic

It has been a cold rainy week.

There was work that I could do outside, but most of my outside work has past the “must do” stage to the “I should do” or even the “if I get around to it” stage.

So I spent a good bit of time in my little studio.

But my brain kept doing these evil tricks with me.

“Why are you goofing off in the studio, when you should be working.” It is hard to quiet that voice. I suppose I could blame my mother, but I don’t think that will work. Miriam’s mom would catch her doing art work and would tell her to stop and do something important.

But I still was struggling with that work thing. I am an old guy, thoroughly retired and living easy on the land, but feeling a twitch of guilt.


Truth is that one of the few times I have been able to work on art and not feel like I was flaking out, was when I was in graduate school. I had a studio in an old dormitory, 12 by 16 feet of solid concrete. It had electricity, a window, heat and AC and it was all mine for a few years.

Maybe once again, I could trick my over trained brain into thinking that my studio is my “job” which it was, at that time.

I am working on it. Some of my art projects are useful, some will go for gifts and some are just whimsical. Right now I am working on a small book: 2 ½ by 4, with about 500 pages and a wood cover.

Not much use for such a thing, and I think I’ll make a box just for that book when I am finished.

Some one once said that real fine art has no practical use, that the value is purely sensory. This one should be high art then!