I heard something on the radio today that made me so sad.
It was a cruel prank call, replayed to giggles and hysterical laughter from the studio crew and it was icky. Icky because the person who had been pranked didn’t even know it until the very end. Icky because it touched on very human needs and revealed the generosity of the person who was being pranked. Icky because it was disrespectful, and Icky because the person who was pranked might find out and feel like less of a person.
Ick. Not clever.
This makes me happy.
I love to look at my roll of linen – standing by, waiting to be transformed. I love that it is capable of so much. That the fabric is so strong. That it could be a garment, or a bag, or a canvas for painting on.
I love the process of constructing a stretcher. The weight of the mallet, the punch of the staple-gun.
I love smoothing three layers of gesso on after a light spray with water. First layer with a brush, second and third payers with a pallet knife.
I love mixing a tint into the gesso – putting down the first patterned or coloured coat that will lead the painting in a direction and never be seen in the final painting.
I love the taughtness of an almost-ready canvas. The singing and echoing sound it makes as the knife scrapes the gesso across.
And when it’s ready – standing by, full of promise, clean and capable of metamorphosis,waiting for the adventure I swear it has an energy of its own already.
Feeling better now. Thanks for listening. 🙂