Summer. The three-ish months between semesters spring and fall in which I attempt to tame that fickle muse, wrestle that ol’ devil, and make art real good. I had some starts and stops, but I suppose I can’t feel too bad about my production. For whatever reason, I never quite learn my lesson on how best to handle the opportunity and responsibility of a summer “off” (laugh with me, fellow educators). Somehow I end up turning the first couple weeks of glorious summer into a Twilight Zone-ian style, getting what you wish for, deal with the devil in which I toil through pseudo-inspiration, amorphous self-doubt, ontological introspection, and shitty art. It might simply take more practice and better journaling. It might take more reasonable expectations. I am making it back home, making plans for international travel, maintaining my workout regimen, and teaching an art history class (after all)… Maybe I’ll just turn my attention to the house. I’ve got to stain the fence, keep up with the neighbors as far as the lawn is concerned, and build some shelving. At least I got to watch more basketball and drink more beer than is typical. For now, see above for results thus far.