Above is my studio in our backyard. I am fortunate to have a separate place to work in Anchorage because finding room to create artworks can be difficult in this city. But, we stumbled across this find; an extra place to fit haunts, memories, desires and so many expectations I have devised for myself are cramped into this space of making. When I lived in Los Angeles, I lived with my artwork; woke up to it and faced the problems of the unexpected insights, joys, and artist angst. Presently in Anchorage, I walk to my studio; bring materials and tools; some days tramping back and forth processing my thoughts and actions too. I just finished the book Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates. It takes place in the 50's; a young couple who fights with the banality of suburban living - the house, two kids and tiresome job revolves around this premise. The author's writing style was a bit too bland for my taste and it reminded me of Fitzgerald in tune, while bringing me to comment on the death of John Updike, who was the epitome of eloquence and prose so vast in delicious human sensibilities.
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