The paintings are so heavy to move, and I am having such difficulty getting the exact colours, painting and then repainting, adjusting, all the while bent double over them, that there is difficulty straightening up after long sessions of this. Ow. Ouch. My back! Being in the studio all the time must be unhealthy. I feel weak. What I'm going to do is work on the smaller canvases, 60 x 50 cm., for a bit as a break from the big ones. Even better, ‘I'm going to stop working, cook some dinner and flop into bed', I thought when, just then there was a thumping on my door. Hugo the artist, whose studio is one floor up, can't unlock the front door. He's just checked and would like to work on for a couple more hours, will I still be working then, he asks. Fortunately I hadn't undressed was my first thought. Being the only artist who actually lives in the building, such practicalities can sometimes be startling. ‘Oh I'm tired tonight', I say, ‘but at midnight I'll check the front door and go up to your studio to let you know'. Waiting for midnight means I start painting again. At half past eleven another thumping on the door, Hugo has decided to go home and the front door is OK. Of course by now my energy has resurged and I paint on for another hour. Funny how these things come and go like moods. One can be distracted and the heavy fatigue might be dismay or anxiety about the painting not working.
