Itchy Fingers

I'm watching Max, the story of Hitler's dabble into the art world via Max Rothman.

That's neither here nor there. I like the historical setting, in terms of art. The work of Ernst dominates the movement and, of course, Hitler hasn't a shot in hell.

But, I'm loving the circle of activity, the gallery exhibits, the modernist movement, in all its break with tradition. I love the creation of it all. Simple things like getting a glimpse of the tools of the trade, tossed on a table, mixed in with the coffee cups and mail. Listening to the conversations about philosophy that invariably follow suit with modern art. Rothman's guidance and encouragement for Hitler to find depth. Hitler's inability to face a blank canvas. Just watching him squeeze oils onto a palette made me nostalgic for those moments of preparation.

A few weeks ago, at work, friends from the lab brought me some of our surplus product that they'd come across after quality control inspection, and asked if I wanted any. Sure! I've been wanting to paint with food for the longest time. What threw us both is that mixed in with the bottles and jars, we found three tubes of paints: One large oil tube of white, one small oil tube of cobalt blue, and one small gouache tube of black. They're sitting on my bookshelf right now, still waiting to be put to use. I've not decided what direction to go in with them. But they feel so perfect in my hand, so familiar.

I've been playing with some ideas outside the box for some time now. I've wanted the weather to be lovely so that I can spend a day outside, set up, and experiment with various media. I don't know why I keep putting it off except that I come home from work, tired and with just enough energy to cook a meal. I really should just sit myself down and do it.


*Image: artspectrum.com.au