There were some sheep still alive in Kuwait after yesterday. Three of them. At the end of the street. I know because they deliberately didn't die until the moment I drove past them this morning. I'll spare you the details.
While I was out, I picked up a Hello! magazine (gasp, shock horror, I know!) but it was something meaningless to take my mind off it. That may have made me feel worse. I needed a cup of tea and a Curly Wurly to recover from all that glamour! But one thing did grab me, in a spread about the fashion designer Roberto Cavalli. Behind him in one shot was a portrait of him done by Julian Schnabel. It was just amazing and painted on plates. I had to Google him and find out more. I didn't find the portrait but I did come across some really scathing criticism. Schnabel was obviously a big name in the late seventies and early eighties because of his work on plates. That portrait stopped me in my tracks so I could understand that. There was a photo at a film premiere. A list of his work included two album covers. In other words he is a bit of a celebrity.
I was drawing my fridge this afternoon and thinking about how boring it might be to others. I hear so much criticism of realistic drawing/painting and I've even had a couple of hints thrown in my direction about being anal. But when I put pencil to paper, that is what comes out. My drawings all look like mine, I don't fret about 'finding my voice', there it is. (Quilting is a whole other story). So...let's say I loosen up. I work bigger. I find unusual ways of working and push the envelope. I become known. I cause a stir. I mingle with celebs. I become a celebrity artist. My name is linked with a new art movement. And my work gets torn to shreds by the critics...There is something wrong here... I just know it.