Sunday, July 07, 2013

A history of the artist

In another attempt to rid my sensitive eyes of whatever's making them go vampire-red every day, I did a total spring-clean of my bedroom. This meant shifting furniture, pulling bits and pieces from wherever they'd been wedged in between furniture, and removing the rug. I mopped the wooden floor with hot soapy water, wet-dusted everything except the clothes hanging on my garment racks and even cleaned the windows (frame and glass).

The only parts I didn't do were the walls, because I'd only be able to clean the lower 5 feet of them.

At some time in the past, the boy had decided to wedge in my old paintings and sketches in behind my tea chest. so I dusted off the plastic folders and took everything out to see whether I wanted to keep anything.

Amongst the self-conscious scribbles from my art classes and my attempts at abstraction were a number of nudes which I'd mostly forgotten about, as well as a couple of self portraits which were a revelation.

In the end, I was happy to chuck out about 80% of that stuff. But I kept my favourite painting and drawing.

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