Good Party. New lil painting. Beckman. Not in that order



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Problem: My friend needs to carve solid blocks of oak into curved, twisting handrail sections in order to finish a staircase for a client. Ok. Here we go. After slogging through a sixty year old handbook written by a master Italian rail carver from San Francisco, making extremely accurate measurements of the staircase, studying everything I could on the internet about his system (called the tangent handrail method), brushing up on my plane and solid geometry, and drawing for four days straight, we ended up with this drawing on a full sheet of MDF (4 ft x 8 ft plus a little) which would (theoretically) accurately describe the three dimensional shape of a curved handrail if it were projected onto flat surface, like a block of wood.: So, ok, next we glued up a big ol hunk of MDF to practice our carving and test our layout on. The THM gives you a big crescent shape, called the face mold, and some accurate angles that will eventually create the twist in the section, which you can see
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 July 2nd, 2023 I wanted to write.  When I was thirteen.  Thirty years ago.  I wanted to be one who was mad for life.  Whose ghosts haunt the teenage mind, part of the pantheon of culture heros who burn bright and light the connections of the past with the present, who transcend that terrible limitation, and ultimate gift, human mortality. I want to write, now.  I want to write and do yoga and walk in the wild places and make pictures and shine my light on the curiously complex net of being that is in and around me.   Movement heals.   My brother who has dealt with terrible pain and injuries told me that.   Does anything ever really heal?  Is that an illusion on the chopping block, as well?   Like the synchrony of artistic merit and some ultimate value as an existing thing?  The counselor said that when we do deep healing work, we heal seven generations back, and seven generations forward. It's hard to even get enough sleep so that my brain doesn't electrocute itself violently
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