"I'm Looking at the Man in the Mirror"

6.5" X 8", oil on masonite

There's a huge difference between being outside and working with beautiful plants and throwing the tennis ball around with the dogs and always eating al fresco and building like a shed or what have you- and sitting in your studio in wintertime, looking at yourself in the mirror and you've got it tilted so you can really see up your own nose, which for some reason you don't really realize, as you're painting it, that that's what the painting is becoming about. (which you hadn't intended) What you were thinking, is that it might be nice to clean your gross brushes, sit down with some nice music and warm it up, Chris. It's been awhile, and that familiar feeling is creeping in, and speaking of creep-y, who cares if you do a self-portrait that's kind of creepy to look at? The idea is to loosen it up after not having worked for a while, and like Geoff Barnes was talking about, it's not really talent- it's practice. And not being an idiot.
So anyways, it's good to look up your own nostrils for a couple of hours, and it's good to get your gear all laid out and ready for a nice winter of painting. (And on a little side note- Whenever I write "anyways," as a joke, it becomes harder and harder for me to spot the difference between the joke and the real way, which is like giving yourself brain damage on purpose, in order to be funny. Which reminds me: I was talking to a woman I had just met last week and I tried to use the word "ebullient" in a sentence, and, I don't know, maybe I had never even said that word out loud before; maybe I've only ever read it, but I sounded so ridiculous, and my mispronunciation was so hideous that I think she thought I was drunk, which was humiliating. I should have just used the word "happy.")

A Sincere Thanks to All Who Showed Up.

The Oceanside Gallery Opening Evening Reception at 7PM at the Oceanside Gallery turned out real great. A sincere thanks to everyone who was able to make it and support both Tony Kirby and myself. I got to meet some really smart/kindof intimidating local artists and also got to chit-chat with the Bellevue crew who came out to represent big-time, and you know; I'll tell you this right now: If you ever have to move to a town and you're new or whatever, and you put yourself out there and decide, "Hey, yeah, I think I'll show some of my paintings." And then opening night rolls around and you're kind of worried that nobody's going to show up- Know one thing: The Bellevue Clinic is down to represent itself at your function, guaranteed. A bunch of scintillating, good-looking, quality human beings. And I love them.

And so, speaking of quality human beings: Dr. K. Keller, (pictured at left, in burgundy, holding a jacket or something. Not the older dude in olive with the wineglass.) is the type of guy who, when his comrade is at a charity auction, and his comrade's painting is being auctioned, and there are no real takers, and the comrade is becoming more and more mortified by the moment, Dr. K. Keller is the type of guy who will raise his arm and cry, "$300 over here!" And basically get the bidding going again so the comrade/artist ends up getting a decent price for his painting after all, instead of having to slink out of the auction not only not having donated sufficiently to a worthy cause, but also feeling like a roomful of people think your painting sucks. So this one's for you, Dr. K. Keller: You are the true definition of a modern valorous gentleman and I, for one, just want to pick you up and give you a hug.