For the past couple days, as I seem more than usually to have awakened to accepting I actually have one, I've been musing on the power and marvelous mix of comfort and strangeness of the activity that goes on in any kind of (art, music, writing, academic) "studio." I've gathered pics of what my agent & friend Connie Clausen always called "the usual suspects" (well-known editors to whom we'd most usually send a book proposal) -- that is, my own usual suspects, who I of course very much more than suspect loved - ah, a bit tougher to come up with a single word for it -- let's provisionally say "their work." Work in the widest, deepest and least stultifying sense. "Say what you've come to say," Quentin encouraged us. And/or do what you've come to do.
What just triggered some sense I was ready to write about this was an exchange I just had with my friend Richard Blumenthal on Facebook about what I called his remarkable "eye" for appreciating and parsing out the particulars of the visual - especially visual art. Richard replied he once sat in on an art course in college his roommate had encouraged him to attend whose professor was so taken with Richard's comments & response he wanted to give him a high mark in the class - but could find Richard's name nowhere on the class roster since he'd attended only as auditor. To which I found myself replying & to which reply Richard replied (a lotta replies goin' on):