My work is like a diary.
Pablo Picasso
Waking in the darkness at 3:55 this morning with the sound of rain pounding on my second story bedroom hotel window, I was surprised to find that my mind would not go back to sleep. Over the past two-and-a-half hours I have enjoyed the luxury of showering, dressing, brewing coffee, and sitting at the dining room table over books and journal.
I am now four hundred pages into volume three of John Richardson's projected five-volume biography on Pablo Picasso. Volume four lies at the ready before me as well. This reading odyssey began May 14, 1992 when my Humanities class at Arlington Lamar High School surprised me with the gift of volume one that had just come out a few months earlier. Before resuming my reading in volume three this morning, I read every autograph inside the opening pages of the first volume, and was once again warmed by the love and affection of that special Spring '92 class as the school year was drawing to its end. Thanks to Facebook, I'm still in contact with some of those students. I cannot think of any profession outside of teaching that could have filled me with more warm memories than the ones created by students who genuinely respected each other and their instructor. If there is a heaven, I hope I could embrace all those souls again.
John Richardson has given us a priceless gift, and I only hope he would be allowed to live long enough to finish this magnificent task. I faithfully read the first two volumes as quickly as they came off the press. Volume three stalled at the halfway point, but now that I have purchased the fourth one, I'm committed to finishing both these works as well. And then I'll hope the final one comes out. I've been immersed in the biographies of the Wyeths, Edward Hopper, Robert Motherwell and Andy Warhol. But I've never been afforded the luxury of ploughing through more than a thousand pages of one so complex as Picasso. Until now.
The rain is intensifying outside and the forecast calls for more of the same throughout the day. This could mean a long day of solitude in the gallery if the foul weather keeps people in their homes. And that is a good thing. Yesterday was a spectacular day of sales in the gallery, so if no one comes in throughout this day or night, it only means I could accomplish the many, many tasks that began surging through my waking mind hours ago. Creative eros makes me grateful to be alive, well, and filled with energy.
If I don't write more later, then let me thank you now for giving me this part of your day.
I make art in order to discover.
I journal when I feel alone.
I blog to remind myself I am not alone.
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