Well, I had (after vastly complicated on-again off-again scheduling all morning with Kevin as Sean is unwell) my hair cut today, then had jin shin, then went groceterisationing briefly, then came home at five and Tiff came twenty minutes later; she just walked out the door. This has been a busy day for me although a few years ago I wouldn't've thought so. My days can seem exhaustingly full with half that expense of energy, unfortunately.

SJ was here on Monday, and we had a conversation about Philip Guston. When she was in D.C. installing that show she made time to see a Philip Guston exhibit, and had some thoughtful things to say about his work. From my viewpoint - a number of years ago (100?) I saw a collection of Guston's work at a museum in California, and although I had never been interested in his work in reproduction, the actual works had a power that I hadn't expected; I can see plainly in my mind's eye the stub of wall next to a doorway to the right of which hung a Guston drawing of a head facing left. About 26"x 20" maybe, and iconic, perplexing, memorable. The show SJ saw contained works from the three major stylistic periods of his life: representational, abstract, and the late drawings. She said the abstracts were not like anyone else's abstracts - somehow they had a pulsing energy. Faced with the drawings, she recognised the same pulsing energy - she thought, "I... think I'M BEGINNING TO GET IT."

The vibrating energy as I recall in that drawing came at least in part from the tension between the way we think something should be and the deliberate flouting of conventionality, the narrowness of the line, the amount of negative space - the central figure inflated with it. I dunno. All I know is that I didn't see that in reproductions although I might see it NOW after having seen originals.

Reproductions are impoverished versions, and although we think they substitute for the works, in truth they are mere placeholders. I remember vividly, as a teenager, standing before a drawing in a museum, and seeing the erasure marks - the human marks of process and changing thought. That's a minor thing, yet it underscores that the artist - who may be a "god" in the art firmament - is in truth a human being, in a way reminiscent of those Mary and Baby Jesus pictures where the boy's genitalia is meant to mark his bond with humanity. That sounds like a stretch, yet as a young artist it seemed so.