Boil in Bag

Ham Paw and I went to the Chelsea Forest yesterday. The beacon of light and goodness and high skill levels remains Neo Rauch. We very much were in love with his work. I think he is the best living painter in the world. He herds multiple scenarios and viewpoints, orchestrating seamless transitions of flat shapes into deep space - wallpaper turns into landscapes, abstract blobs become distant roads. And there are these lonely figures throughout that appear to exist in their own private experience, despite being proximal to others. His figures are all working, accomplishing a task, or deep in thought - distracted, preoccupied. At times almost monstrous or in awkward balance, the figures remain mysteriously solid, sturdy and graceful, with ill proportions seeming part of their nature. His deft paint handling has the capacity to convince you, to make anything he decides to paint believable and pleasurable to look at. Smiles. Wishes to paint as well as that.

We looked at his wondrous relics for many many minutes longer than we could bear to look at anything else. I believe they helped fortify us against the rains that drenched us later in the day.

Ham Paw bought binoculars to improve his lacerating vision. Mountain Man beheld himself as an aging cut tree of a man and wished for sanity to rain down on him instead of rain.

Later, I began succumbing to yet another illness, this time in my throat area. How can it be? Weakened MM system. Faulty faulty system. I may drown in the phlegms of death, so if you do not hear from me for a while, this is what has happened.

Good morning to everyone who is not evil.