* 57 degrees in NYC and i kicked ass in the studio again... yeah.

what to say? within the madness of fatherhood, trying to get my workouts in,

cooking dinner, trying to read, trying to live- i'm at this incredible creative peak.

the paint is just going down strong..

this could all come down to shit

if nothing sells or the dealers decide i suck, etc, etc...

but for now-- alone, in the studio, working honestly

and (i hate to say it) happily,

none of that matters. nothing outside the space

of my old candy factory studio amounts to anything

more than some dream that hasn't come around yet.

this is the strange port between sales and shows

where paintings are there and you look at them and feel one way or another

but these all feel so good. so good... and yes, no wasted time.

the guitar has long gathered dust.

and color... why not?

* the Whitney reviews are starting to come out.

and? R. Smith went on and on- this biennial is so different,

so new, so.... bullshit. it's the same performance

and the same video and the same dance

and the same feeling of nothing. nothing...

it seems there is a dance piece taking up the largest space in the museum

(that makes sense...). a woman wears a horse head (mask).

i'm feeling it...

2 women are moving their apartments into the show.

their clothes, life, etc...

yeah... why? well, because it's easier than making art.

it leaves more time to- well, not make art.

brilliant...