After Work

After work, I went to work sitting on my couch in the great room with only my sketch pad and Le Pen and a Flare. I did a fast sketch of what was in front of me--the sectional our black lab used to sleep on after everybody was in bed and the cocktail table where Honey and I eat dinner every night. I was too tired from the day's activities--drawing up final plans for Mrs. M's Master Suite changes,quoting them, doing the laundry, and making dinner--to get to the studio. Hell, I didn't even get outside and the weather was beautiful. How long was that going to last?

I felt badly about not doing what I wanted to do--go to the studio and work on Mice. Hugh MacLeod, in his book Ignore Everybody, advises artists to keep our day jobs, but yesterday my day job spoiled what had become my day job of preference. The rest of the evening I doodled away my distress. My primary day job pays a lot more than the secondary one I wish was primary. It's difficult to ignore what pays the rent best Hugh, and that does tend to get in the way of making art for art sake.