I chose a glove-box man

Okay I may not take pictures of the mess I’m about to make today so here’s Francis Bacon’s studio for comparison. Whatever happens, I don’t think I can top this. I would need more than a day.

For some of the weekend I was hunched over the drafting table in our cellar, adding patterns of future-mystery resist-goo to some unrulily-wide yards of canvas, the idea being that after it dries and I add paint, the marks will resist the paint and wash away, leaving the background color exposed. I don’t know if this will work. Maybe we never know what small moments of resistance work until much later — notice the subtlety with which I just typed those words right in there? I know you did.

(I waver back and forth between using ‘cellar’ and ‘basement.’ We all said cellar growing up and basements were for other people; no I don’t know why or even who they were. ‘Basement’ felt like a word that wasn’t mine, like ‘glove box.’ I was raised in a solid ‘glove compartment’ family. We respected syllables, we Carters did. Yet I grew up and chose a ‘glove box’ man. *Can this marriage be saved?*)

After breakfast and more coffee (*looks at clock to see if it’s still pre-noon*) I’ll be schlepping the aforementioned yardage, spreading it across the cement floor of my semi-secret Delavan Studios *basement* painting/shipping/storage space, and adding paint to the whole endeavor.

I’ve misled your brain by tossing canvas and paint together in these sentences. You’re picturing white. Sorry. Please update your imagination to very dark gray, almost black, canvas. If any of this pre-work works I’ll be turning it all into a collection of bags.

p.s. if you are Diane and you've read this far and can only mostly think GREAT BUT WHY WON'T THIS WOMAN SHUT UP AND SEND ME MY PILLOWS, I'll also be doing that today. I may have adhd, but I also have Strattera. It's all about balance. xo helen