Drawing in my sketchbook on a city bus as the driver aims uphill on a paved surface at normal speed. The bus stops and starts. The sketchbook bounces on my knee. I suspect he is avoiding prehistory, postmodernism, and the now. This explains weaving, dodging, and swerving.
Which way to the bread line? The mountain is a machine. The animals are leaving Rome. Tell the Pharaoh nothing (I must have been thinking about the current situation – whatever it is).
I accidentally created a B&W version of this GIF which doesn’t register the text (not enough contrast) so there are blank spaces which is ‘sort of’ interesting in terms of future considerations.
I saw a concealed camera. The building owner said, ‘Keep this to yourself. I can give you a better deal.’ They were trying to catch whoever pulled the fire alarms. I took a two-year lease on a bright, spacious studio. New owners took over. My lease expired. They showed me an abandoned studio containing a four-foot high plaster bust of John F. Kennedy. I wrote the artist a letter. His uncle took me to a basement apartment in Brampton. The artist had been living in his mother’s house. Dishes filled the drainer beside the sink. His thin leather coat hung, buttoned, on a wire hanger. Augustin Filipovic won the Mayor of Rome’s Award. His art embellished the cover of Canada’s Centennial Book. Augustin looked like a movie star, wearing a tuxedo & waltzing in the spotlight with a pretty girl in white.
Eurydice made me a chutney & cucumber sandwich on white bread, minus the crust, for my drive to the art school. Somebody smashed the rental car window – I’d parked in the alley where the crack dealer operated, so I went to the emergency repair place. Sunlight on the shattered window bits danced like crystal chandeliers. I knew I should wait, until the glass was vacuumed & replaced, before eating the sandwich. But somehow the green chutney & white bread went perfectly with chandeliers. I pictured Eurydice making her entrance.