It's still much too cold.
New snow falls on old snow and people from Poland tell me weather is rather fine.
Robert starts the very complicated drawing for a very complicated painting.
Even the tracing paper ripples like the ice-clad sidewalk.
The space that is a pop-up shop on the corner of 8th Avenue and 22nd street is setting up for a new art show. Repro antique sculptures a bit like the ones we had to draw from in art school in the sixties of the last century. When they asked me if I wanted to come in, I thanked them and said it was fine.
I just wanted to take a photo of the spare-parts dolly because it was so spectacularly gray.
For some reason, this week has been rather blanched of color...
...except this morning when the blue sky cradled the reluctant-to-leave-moon.
The pigeons were circling and circling over the dog-run the other day.
On a more cheerful note, I'm reading a wildly ribald but wonderfully funny book called Duck Duck Wally about a young man in LA who is a ghostwriter for a rapper--(who knew?) The author, Gabe Rotter was one of my students. How sweet vicarious success is!
