I've been cleaning out my studio, (again), not really the studio itself but the things I brought over here after I sold my place, things that started to feel like an enormous weight. Mainly paperwork, documents and traces of ownership, the stuff we call a paper trail, leading us back to who we were. The rest of the things, the objects, just moved from here to over there.
But since my studio is inherited, adopted, clearing it is like a dig, an excavation. I find:
two tiny harmonicas,
a pin-up girl for matadors,
awesome co-eds, (I do love a teenage boy in a cravat),
girls who were really, really mad for plaid,
and a folder of photos of my Dad, as a young artist.