Dread

When I say 'L-U-V,' you'd better believe me, L-U-V. Gimme a beer!
I'm in a bit of a quandary. Note the words 'a bit'--it's just a little one. The quandary is, how shall I bitterly ring in Valentine's day? A classic choice would be Jaëger, but I think the irony of wine would suit. Besides, it pairs well with linseed oil and violent string quartet music.
Yes, this isn't your average 'love-affairs-are-horrible-but-it-still-sucks-to-be-alone-on-V-Day' pity party, ladies and gentlefields. It's a brash, celebratory reaffirmation of the ego, that is, my singularity. And not in that annoying carnal way, either. It's the day I look my best, throw on a dress made of tissue paper, and slap some paint (talent being the most fickle love of all) exuberantly on whatever base material comes to mine. Luckily, I just reprimed a couple canvas boards, and I have one big sexy double-primed 36x24 ready.
I may consider investing in some linen. I would likely to too intimidated to touch it for a year. I've also been considering a very detailed grisaille portrait, just cause. Maybe I'll do a study after Ingres. I've been thinking about him a lot lately. I mean, I like him a lot, but sometimes he strikes me as a bit of a sellout. His technique is faultless, really. Mine isn't to say the least. Artistically, we have little in common, but I still remember Katy painting a master copy of his Odalisque in the atelier, when I was thirteen, and I loved the smoothness of everything, how the colours were faultlessly blended, but didn't assume the grey muddiness typical of overblending. I mean, he is a master for a reason.
Anyhow, if you have any good ideas, do comment, if you think I'd be interested.