The France Dance

A month ago today, I got on a plane to come to France. I didn’t expect anything; and I’ve got a lot. Some of it bad, most of it great.

I don’t even like Cezanne. I’m not painting this mountain.

I can’t plop my ass in nature and suck it up like a simpleminded vacuum. I have to meet it on my own terms, to sneak up and take it by surprise, to move in stealth and become a part of it. I don’t want to stare gape-mouthed, and paint whatever slams my retinas. I want to record instead what nature does when it thinks no one but god is looking.

I guess I am a bit of a country girl, too.

This place isn’t about what you produce. It’s about what you are becoming capable of producing. I fucked up at VCU because it was about producing, and I was about potential instead. I changed situations; but if I keep the same m.o., it’s cool. Marchutz is about developing potential, not making output. Should I have stayed at VCU? Am I in output mode now? Can I release a bit of that in paintings and drawings here?