Monday, February 7, 2011


I don't know why I was just thinking of Wayne Thiebaud, but I was. Perhaps it was that I was thinking about the delicious baked goods I consumed this weekend. Canadian coffee is generally no good, but their baked goods are often excellent. While Thiebaud is better known for his images of cakes and pies, this landscape is probably my favorite of his. Whether it reminds me of living on the Southside slopes in Pittsburgh or because the lack of distance beyond the hill makes this "place" anywhere/nowhere all at once, something in the image soothes me, feels a little like home. Maybe it's the not-quite-right proportions. Yes, that feels like home.

I fell in love with Thiebaud when I went to his show at the Whitney in 2001. At the time I had just started dating someone who really liked his work and I figured to go and report back would be a way to understand her a little better. There is something about his work (I mean, of course, as with most artists) that moves from the well-conceived to the transcendental when you're standing in front of it.

Right now there is a man outside my office (I'm not in there) pulling wood from the side of the house. Hopefully to fix the moisture problem that has been bubbling the paint on that side. Really there's no telling whether it's moisture coming from inside the house or whether it's because of the hotness of eastern exposure on the dark grey paint. Western and Southern are supposed to be the hot ones, but because of the proximity of trees and other structures the west and south sides of the house don't actually get much direct, widespread sun. Parts stay positively in the shade.

The man is making an incredible amount of noise, but I forge onward in my workday. Because the blind dog is not barking. I find this nearly impossible to believe, but it's true. I can work through hammering, Rainer barking: not so much. Cally (sighted dog) is disturbed, but not barking. She takes her cues from me. Every now and then after a particularly loud noise she will look at me, see that I am unaffected and go back to sleep. And because of my inability to sleep last night, I got a very, very early jump on the workday. Which means long as the day is, I can actually already see the end from where I am.

I didn't sleep well last night; the fall has me worried. And I don't know if I need to worry at all.

(Rainer, noise-making extraordinaire.)