Spent most of the day at Borders for research, flicking through the arts and culture sections,either immersed in magazines or trying to convince myself I don't need another sketchbook.
I think I may have a serious problem in that regard, since I caved and bought myself a pocket sized Moleskine-they were on sale.
I have around a dozen sketchbooks on my studio shelf already, at various stages of completion, much to my wife's bemusement.
Its an odd quirk I have, the need to start a new one before I've completed the last, as if I were having some sort of external reboot on my creativity, or capping a certain point in time.
The research was for my book, which is coming along nicely. It features around twenty of my most recent works, complimented by biographical anecdotes and annotations, and all being well, I'll have it done in time for Christmas. I wish I could post the cover, because it's awesome, but I'm wanting to keep it under wraps until it's available.
Writing biography is oddly disconcerting, a counterpoint to what I do with painting, using metaphor as camouflage-and I so don't want it to be down, more laden with irony, so I'm taking my cues from my dog eared stalwart-Salvador Dali, the unspeakable confessions of. I've read the book once a year, ever since discovering it when I was sixteen-it's eminently quotable, completely batty and salacious in the way every good biog should be, although my own shall probably have closer allusions to the parochial Alan Bennett.
I'm also working on rearranging my studio to maximize the space, lugging the monster office table that was here when we inherited the property and removing the massive closet doors that never worked. I realize its the wrong month for a spring clean, but as you can tell, I'm feeling like a fresh start.