Two months ago I abandoned my studio to the wrecking ball of someone's progress and now make art out of this little apartment. The dining room table is my drawing board, the living room morphed into a framing and storage area. No space is neglected and each night I sleep above stacks of finished drawings pushed underneath the bed.
Paul Klee worked for years on his kitchen table. A friend creates beautiful paintings on canvases leaned against his garage wall. How can I feel bad about paints and solvents stacked on my kitchen counter. There is still the opportunity to create works of art that have never been done before.
Today, however, I am content to simply wonder about it.