Summer is a-cumen in...

Counting the days now before I close up shop here in the city for another summer's work. This year feels different to me. It feels like an end of something. I'm going back to my usual place; the cats will come with me and T. will stay down here to hold the fort (so to speak). What feels different is that the paintings I'm making are for no one but myself. It's a change from the past several years when I knew there was a gallery interested in what I was doing, whether they were able to sell them or not. But, I'm on my own this time and the heady feeling of exploration is often countered by abject fear. Recent perusals of the artworld, both on-line and on foot have me convinced that the jig is up. There is most definitely a resurgence of painting, but what kind of painting? Mostly bad. I am resisting the temptation to name names here because it feels mean-spirited, but suffice it to say that I think maybe painting has died yet again. We'll see what I can manage to bring back in the fall before leveling criticism at any of my own tribe. But I'm worried.