The Beast

I am beginning a painting of my rickety but raucous Galloper, the car that has seen me up and down, in and out of ditches, roads, creeks AND the riteve. My friend Bill calls it "The Beast" and would like to drive it while I am back in Philadelphia; I am fearful because while he drives, I am responsible for any accidents or tickets or problems, and that makes me rethink leaving it with him.

I reworked this boat from a dreary day last summer during the rainy season, making the sand less pink, but still the boat is wrong, I know. I still kind of like it.

My friend Eva gave me a huge bottle of miel, as she had promised taking me to the spot where I could get it; I was so delighted when she pulled this large bottle of golden bliss from under her desk at the bank. She speaks no English, and my Spanish is limited, but we do seem to get along and read each other! In her honor and in honor of all the delicious, sweet joy of Costa Rica, I painted this one; I had already bought another bottle of honey, so I've put both in the painting, but hers is center stage. Hibiscus flowers are in the middle.

I ran out of canvasses right around the time I had to leave my car for two days with the mechanic who got it through the riteve by fixing it up so that it could pass. One morning I pulled out my water colors and tried to create a still life of sorts, but I was out of fruits or delicious things to paint, so I pulled three eggs out of the fridge, the frying pan and a bowl. There was a knife somewhere too, but it didn't seem to make it into this little sketch. I know the frying pan looks as though it's bleeding; I'll fix that...

Trying to prepare for my proposal for SVA's conference in the fall and hope to do something on my trip to Bangladesh but cannot seem to get it into 200 words; because the conference is around Denis Dutton's notion of the "Art Instinct," I listened to a 15 minute lecture of his on TedTalks. Who knew? Now I do, but I've got to work his notion into my reading of one banned Bangladesh author and two who write in English and don't even live in Bangladesh. Maybe there is an instinct to have an audience! I'm not happy with that and think more along the lines of the art of language so that I can look at texts and signage in Dhaka and wherever else my 10 days take me.