evening
wednesday
Cam Linker
COMMUTE
It always seems to rain on Wednesday nights, Flooding the roads on the commute to the Studio. The ritual of driving through the pounding rain, Passing by the antique shops, The dumpling restaurant, Pulling into the parking lot, And unloading canvases and paint boxes from the trunk. As the door opens, the bells ring. Mountains of paintings and drawings face the entrance, Inviting you into the space. Friendly faces of fellow artists smile hello, Everyone beginning to set up their boards in the back room. The heavy smells of oil paints saturating the air, The hot studio lights, Bowie’s greatest hits, All setting the mood to create. The boxes of compressed charcoals are passed around, The lights go dim, And they all begin to draw. Arms are tossed up and across the papers, Charcoal dust flies through the air. Sounds of rags scrubbing the papers, Sounds of rain pelting against the tin roof, The silence creates a space for truth. As they work, Every drop of creative energy in the space is focused On just one, singular pear: A Masterpiece is finished, but never done.
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Under the Surface | Cam Linker | 10x10 | Textiles
