What I’m Working On

Before we moved into our house, our neighbors called it “The Alamo” because it was the last decrepit house in the neighborhood and had a barren, beat-up look to it. We moved in with our young children, fixed things, and filled it up. In 2019, my children are now 25, 27, and 30. They’ve left to be adults and have emptied The Alamo. Leaving happens slowly. Objects trickle out at a steady pace. Can someone return these stolen bowling shoes? The Jeremy Fisher remnants go to whom? Do we divide the first Harry Potter book like Solomon suggested with the baby?

As I paint images of The Alamo, I’m thinking about how Agnes Martin emptied out her paintings and how George Eliot championed small narratives. Not-painting figures and objects is something to think about.

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