Have you ever had a week when everything was just right, that will be remembered as gauze-softened and twinkly, not because of the softening of passing time but because it actually was? I haven't had a stretch of days like that since I was a kid and loved almost everything. But this last week actually was. Actually was.
I'm just back from the opening of "Folk, Fantasy, and Outsider Art", at Watson MacRae Gallery on Sanibel Island, over on the Gulf side of the state. (I'm Fantasy). Tuesday night was perfect, from the minute I walked in and saw my work in Maureen Watson's beautiful space. My artwork is small and obsessional, it's best seen up close. So even when I work larger, it means larger for me-I take it outside my studio and it gets smaller than even I intended. It asks for a particular kind of looking, in a particular kind of space, and Maureen and the wonderful painter Hollis Jeffcoat knew this, and placed my objects with intuition and care. When I looked through the gallery window I first thought of the natural history rooms I grew up loving, the ones that let you stop time and stay and examine intimately. That is all that I could ever want.