I’m gonna be in my studio by 1:00. I need to go to tap plastic, the art store, and the grocery store. Bettina and Janie are coming over at 4. I’ll get the plexi glass first. “Hi I’d like a piece of 18×24 1/16” plexi.” His name tag says “In Training.” I need something off the rolls in the back too. I show him, he seems nervous and excited to be helping one of his first customers. He pulls out the plastic and I get 4 feet. He only charges me for one foot, I tell him he missed a couple of feet, he adds two more. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I still got one foot free. At the art store I get some more Lenox 100, Ingres, soft gel gloss, I get a feeling of excitement and possibilities, and fluid titanium white. Its hot today and my girlfriends are coming over so I put on a new little sun dress and pinned one side of my hair back. I feel sexy for a 43 year old housewife mom. I bring my items to the counter. I ask the staff “why is rives printmaking paper so expensive now?” The guy behind the counter say “This is why” and pulls up his sleeve and flexes his bicep muscle. I don’t get it, then he says “the French don’t like us.” Strange. Next stop Whole Foods. I try to hurry but get lost in choice. I want to get appetizers for my friends, fruit for the babies. I need to hurry, I need to get into my studio. I drop my box of strawberries putting my groceries on the belt. Shit, I just pick them up. The girl asks if I want new ones, I say no, I wash them anyhow. I get home, put the groceries away and make it to my studio by 1:30. I have 2 hours. I tear my paper, the Ingres feels really nice, it’s beautiful. I wet the paper, I think about when Joab and I made our collaborative glue and gold piece at Cal State Hayward. We would pour glue and powdered gold and silver I would get from Amsterdam Art. It turned into a huge monster of a sculpture. I start with watercolor, I pour out all the tubes and pick sepia. I take a paint brush, one of the last ones that’s not hard and ruined. I start to put marks on the paper, the paint stains beautifully, I am taken back to the series of watercolors I made right after my mom died. Figures start to emerge, I feel uncomfortable. I’m not ready to go back to figurative work yet. I work with line and a bamboo pen. I finally get the technique and can’t believe it took so many years. A nice light touch creates a nice line. I emerge into the creative process, adding paint, collage, layers. I’m afraid to look at the time. I’m scared it’s later than I want it to be. I get some I really like and another pile of rejects. I look at the time. It’s 3:30. Shit. I’m bummed, but excited to see my friends and drink some wine. I clean up, take one last look. What am I going to do with all these paintings? I have so many, I’m making some new ones I really like. I can’t get anything else framed. I have a shit load of great pieces framed. I need to line up a show. But what about the framing part? I’m leaving now, I’m leaving my studio and these thoughts for the night.