Thin Knuckles.

Today I had to rent a small truck to pick up some work from the framer.
I strapped nine pieces into the back of the truck, just like I used to back in the day.
I almost immediately scraped the skin off the knuckles of my strapping digits.
But the muscle memory remained and it made me miss my old job more than I have been accustomed to lately. The small talk, the coffee carts, the arduous manual labor.
All of it.
But today was different because the work I was picking up was my own, nine paintings for my first solo show in a NYC Gallery.
It is a huge personal victory, and I am excited beyond the beyond for it to open.

But that is still more than two weeks away and today I was only picking the work up to take from the framer to a temporary storage spot at a friend's studio which is over in Greenpoint where T and I lived a much different life.

Going back to our old neighborhood with a much newer purpose was quite a trip, and it was very nice feeling indeed. The feeling of progress and accomplishments, large and small.
I stood with my friend Brady and we watched a man operate a large boom arm with a big claw at the end pick up huge bundles of scrap metal and toss them into a barge that was parked on the rivers edge.
We watched this from the window of his studio.
It was sunny and beautiful.

Then I left and had to race to pick up Burger from day care but instead got mildly trapped in the Hassidic part of Williamsburg and drove around in a couple circles.
It's ALL one way streets in there, completely backwards and frustrating!!

And that was my day, it was warm out and all of my chores were accomplished.

And now we play the waiting game.