Sailors Take Warning

There are fires burning all over. The morning sky is red with smoke. I wake up and am in Pompeii. My eyes are daylight-balanced and the sky is tungsten orange. It is a strange sight.

Faded & Empty, or Ripe With Possiblity?

I've awakened to grey skies for a few weeks, I think. It's hard to tell when I wake, sometimes, because there's always a vague zone of a few hours while I shuffle my mind into the day.

It's October, so it's about time for the skies to turn down the brightness a notch, I guess. I like blue skies, but I also like overcast skies for a different reason. The whole sky's white, like a huge sheet of butcher paper. I want to take a crayon to it.

There's a lot to do when you don't have to be at work until 6pm. I found a life drawing session to attend in Santa Monica. I'd like to go to the Tuesday night sessions, which is geared towards sketching and so is (I imagine) more poses, less time, but the Friday morning's about all I can manage time-wise. It's the same pose for three hours, and then another three hours of the same the following Friday. I'm the only chump in the room with pencils. Everyone else has oil paints.

Maybe I should show up with the oils that I have little if any idea how to use, frown intently at the model for three hours and leave with a passable rendition of the table lamp.