Imagine that you and I are lounging around in my front room, on a comfy imaginary suede sofa and finishing off a bottle of dry white wine. Imagine that it’s some other season than the dead of winter, or we would be huddled in misery over an electric underblanket rather than lounging.
After looking around at all the half-finished paintings on my walls, you might ask me:
“M., your dedication to Clyfford Still borders on obsession and you blog about other artists, your balcony, and people’s handwriting. But you’re an artist, and this is supposed to be your art blog. Right? So where’s your art? Don’t tell us your portfolio at http://www.exiledstar.com, because there’s only like 4 pictures in it. Where are all the rest?”