The Year of Magical Painting

I just closed down the blog I’ve written since July 4th of 2006. Three thousand one hundred and ninety-nine posts. Hundreds of thousands of visits. A lot of goddam paintings, although it, like me, seemed at the end less about painting than it used to be.

Me? These days I’m more about gun sculptures.

A friend of mine tells me he doesn’t like to watch long-form television until it’s finished. He didn’t like getting half way through and having to wait for the next season to roll around. Breaking Bad, for instance … he waited until the final season was over then blasted through it. “You should be watching Downton Abbey,” I used to tell him, to no avail. He’s going to wait another three years, then do it without interruption. All by way of saying that if you’re like him you should now go to The Year of Magical Painting and read the whole fucking thing, start to finish. Because it is done.

I remember a reporter from the New York Observer (this was back when it less resembled an electric shaver than it does now) wanted to do a story on me. I told her I’d be happy to have her follow me around for a day but only if she read my entire blog.

Does that make me a bad person?

Anyway, I’m feeling a bit torn up about the whole thing. So perhaps that’s my punishment.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.