There's just strip clubs and strip malls, right?

Rather quiet these days when I'm on the dais speaking to more than one. In that twisting sentence, I mean to say that I don't want to write here. I don't know how to shoe-horn the fat, short generalizations I am working with into eloquent and elegant words at all.
I am drawing out my decisions for days to see if they die from hunger if not fed or put to bed the second they are noticed. Worrying that I am hesitant, wondering about the actions that are similar to hesitancy while not making spontaneity into a paper tiger to be slain. I am trying not to balance abundance with lack or chance with intention. Trying not to carefully democratize every action with another.
Not working in order to balance the books.

I've named the show at The Bilton Centre For Contemporary Art: The Brawl Of The Beast
From Djuna Barnes' Book, Nightwood:
"The brawl of the beast makes a path for the beast"
A fitting title for a show opening on my 30th birthday. i think it will be the last titled this way, I am tiring a bit of the clever, self-referencing in-joke titles. Nothing else in mind, just feel like getting quiet like when you want to hear if there really is a rat in your house but don't want to get up and scare it off. Of course you have no clue what you'll do if you hear it, or whether you want to hear it.

PS. Please check out my grow-a-saurus paintings on The Bilton Centre site, so good.

Watchman, What Of The Night?

I am, for the third time, reading "Nightwood" by Djuna Barnes. I bought myself a first American edition of the book, and the size of the hardcover is a luxury in the hand.
In all the preparations for the upcoming show, i have little to say about painting. Suffice it to say this book remains a very significant influence on my work.
From the most unbelievable chapter of the book, in Paris as Dr. Matthew O'Connor gives his long monologue to the American Nora Flood on the night and loving Robin Vote:
"The French have made a detour of filthiness - Oh God the dirt! Whereas you are of a clean race, of a too eagerly washing people, and this leaves no road for you. The brawl of the Beast leaves a path for the Beast. You wash your brawl with every thought, with every gesture, with every conceivable emollient and savon and expect to find your way again. A Frenchman makes a navigable hour with a tuft of hair, a wrenched bretelle, a rumpled bed. The tear odf wine is still in his cup to catch back the quantity of its bereavement; his cantiques straddle two backs, night and day."(p. 107)*

And later, the doctor is speaking with Felix about his child with Robin, Guido:
"In the average person is the peculiar that has been scuttled, and in the peculiar the ordinary that has been sunk; people always fear what requires watching"(p. 151)*

*New Directions "New Classics", 1937 First Edition