Next week's exhibit will include "selected sculptures." People ask why I switched from sculpture to painting; I thought it was a natural progression. Now I know the real answer--pedestals. These six pedestals were built of masonite 35 years ago; they stack like Russian dolls, and I remember picking up the stack and putting it into my Plymouth Fury Station Wagon. Then it was off to shows. Now each one seems to weigh about a ton. It took three days to get them from the workshop onto the porch for painting--Monday to clear the way to the pedestals and move them away from the wall; Tuesday's attempt to lift the top one off the stack (forget that); and Wednesday--I lay the stack on its side, pulled the smallest one out first and carried them one-by-one to the porch. They've been washed. Kneeling into position behind the pedestal before the camera's timer went off was not an easy feat--I needed eight shots.
Today I painted them; everything hurts--tomorrow I buy a hand cart.