Keep dreaming, keep scheming, keep singing, keep slugging

Ten years ago, I went to see the Turner exhibit at the AGO. Some kind of switch flipped while I was staring into his otherworldly yellows and when the museum closed I told myself:

“Come back again tomorrow, and if the feeling’s still there or if it’s stronger, walk into the store next door where they sell art supplies, and buy a tube of paint, probably from the family of yellows, and, I guess, a brush.”

I don’t know why I never warned myself

but wait, you haven’t held a brush since boyhood

OR

but probably you have aphantasia, you’ll be at a crazy disadvantage

No no never! I only painted pictures every day, and whenever things felt futureless or horrible, I remembered Aesop’s tortoise and I remembered Turner’s crazy seamonsters, and the moral of this story, if you can call it that, is this:

If there’s something you want to do, please start doing it today. However you can, whenever you can. Please!

Turner’s Crazy Seamonster(s)

If you want to feed your picture into a typewriter and type on it, you certainly can

Also, in mmxxiii I published 190 copies of a hardcover artbook or artist’s book called We know the lights will go out but we don’t know when and as of today, only 2 copies remain! My fondest pastime is to corrupt the rearmost endpaper with a crude cartoon like this:

Anyhow, these books will never be reprinted, and they’re colourful and full of birds and love. If you’d like to acquire one of the final copies, here’s the pathway:

Affable Avian Artbooks, right this way -------->

but also

At my usual waterside park I encountered a bird photographer whose attitude I did not care for, and when he asked me if I had any useful information for him regarding the availability and whereabouts of snowy owls, I provided him with nothing but lies and misdirection! Hoo boy, I’ve been in a pretty good mood ever since!

Please don’t be a bad bad birdman

Snowy Owl’s Dream no. 1

I dreamed I was a contestant on a game show called NO EASY ANSWERS.

They reminded me: “If you answer correctly, you’ll win everything.”

I said: “I’m ready.”

They asked me: “What is humanity’s foremost and fundamental problem?”

I answered without hesitation, and soon my pockets spilled with fountain pens with golden nibs and camera lenses whose rendering powers could make you weepy and ancient discontinued pigments and finally and best of all, a descented skunk named Romeo with whom I knew I’d someday snuggle on a sofa, watching ballgames.

Northern Flicker on the roadways among the easy silver halides

Geese and Ducks in The Shiplands in the middle of the night

Snow Bunting poking through the lakeside greenrocks

always onward; love only