This thing gets harder and harder every single day. Perhaps I should just give up?
The Flaming Throne. I feel that whichever dashed devil this is supposed to be governs all communication and its pandemic opposite. I wasn't going to write one of these today. The intention was to get a fair bit of art made, plus a TikTok. Barely scratched the surface, but at least I don't have to water the tomatoes as Svarog obligingly precipitated all over the back garden.
I now appear to have 4 identical displays from Instagram on the Home page. I may have added Twitter, but I have no soddin' idea whether I managed it or not. You think you have followed instructions, but they are apparently translated from the original English into Mandarin and thence into Irish, Arapaho and Croat, before being Googled back into English. And bugger Wittgenstein's glib suppositions about the ability of language to signify anything!
A gay man was brutally murdered by his brother and cousins in Iran a few days ago, then they beheaded him. I will do a picture to commemorate the guy and the atrocity associated. I have begun. Another project to add to the list. I should just give up sleeping altogether. Hockney says he feels like he's 30 when he paints. I feel older than Methuselah. And income is dwindling further, which in turn will further curtail art-time.
I love this shouting into the void. All good clean fun!