For the past few months I’ve designated Sundays as a do-whatever-makes-you-feel-great day.

Not to say that I’m not doing things I enjoy the rest of the week, but I chill about keeping to a timeline or doing designated tasks on Sundays. The rest of the week I’m pretty disciplined, up at a certain time, make my bed, wear shoes with laces, review what needs to be done, mark out time on my calendar. I’m a freelancer and can mostly make my own hours, but I like to keep a schedule. I newly live alone and in the pandemic my outings and interaction with others has been dramatically reduced. Routine brings comfort and purpose; it keeps me focused on the now.

But Sunday! Leisure time, creative time, go for a walk and enjoy my beloved dtla time.

The creative time is the most treasured. I don’t pressure myself to conceive of or finish a work, I just get to scrap hunting, cutting, and eventually pasting. It’s ideation and execution, without evaluation.

More often than not the cut and paste session clicks and is immensely satisfying. Yesterday I made two finished works. Both brought tremendous pleasure, but in different ways. I found the first moody and brooding. The second was silly and made me laugh during the cutting and now, a day later, looking at it above my drafting table. The commonality in the works is both are made from the pages of the November 2008 of W magazine, exclusively. I decided for each to use pages of the magazine that had no image on them at all as the “base.” It always surprises me when I come across blankness on the pages—it’s expensive real estate.

Delicate Pursuits came first and continues some kind of collage-making obsession I’ve had lately of making a work using only three cuts. The second work, Ideal Cuts, is made of lots of cuts using legs and the cheeky headlines of the issue. They are like sexy propaganda proclamations.

Ideation and execution, without evaluation