I finished reading Keith Haring's journals last night. He really did have a singular voice, and an interesting perspective on the art world. He didn't believe in revision or self-editing. For him art was a constant act of creation. You can sense it in the playful impulsivity of his lines.
Interesting to try to understand the differences between "high art" and "low art," all the trends and schools of thought behind each one. Pop versus dadaism. Modern, post-modern, contemporary. It makes my head spin.
I was feeling kind of blue today. I saw that Mary Ann Moss had posted photos of her recent travel journal this morning and my heart soared, but then I had to peel myself away--leave them unread--because I had meetings and work to do.
This evening after the boys went to bed I worked on an accordion book made of paper sewn onto duck cloth. I have to use the sewing machine on its slowest setting so I won't wake them. It's kind of nice that way, actually. More contemplative. I'll post pics of the book-in-progress tomorrow if I get a chance to take them before the sun sets. Indoor lighting doesn't do them any justice.
Now I'm off to read a few pages of Hundreds and Thousands, the journals of Emily Carr. I'm voracious for artists' journals lately; can you tell?