That’s right. Ten percent of my working life as an artist is spent painting. Is it because I’m a dilettante? No. It’s because the business of being an artist is voracious for my time.

It’s a business. I have to file taxes. I have to keep books. I have to store ridiculous amounts of paper to prove that what I spent is what I spent, and that paper must go in files.

Files! I have to file my artwork. First I have to make an inventory: on Excel; on the work itself. Title; inventory number; medium; date; copyright notice; size (live with it, I’m only doing the inches – you do the conversion). Oh yes, PRICE.

Price. That reminds me, I have to work at sales. In this age of wonderful opportunity I am beholden to no gallery owner, but that means I own my own gallery on the Internet. Someone else built my custom management system; I have to maintain it. So people can buy what’s current.

And then I can do order fulfillment.

So. I’ll paint tomorrow.

At least I can keep a sketchbook, so I can draw on the train, on the way to the shrink, to discuss my feelings about TEN PERCENT.

Have a sketch:

from my sketchbook, while riding the no. 2 line

A moment of peace amidst the clatter

Derwent 9B Pencil on 1/2 of an A4 Moleskine Notebook page / September 2010