Dennis Hollingsworth

Back to it.

Meanwhile, I repressurize the second floor.

Back from the dinner at Blanes, I resume the position. Like a fisherman over an ice hole, I wonder if there are any fish below at all. No, that's not it... there are many fish below... then am I overoptimizing the choice? Bah. The night takes its course and the familiar BBC news on Tito's old TV revolve one after the other, I sample LA radio over the web. I look up and notice that the sky is lightening up already. The canvas is still blank. It matters and it doesn't matter at all.

So I pick up a tool and load it up, and I touch the surface... it's seven in the morning.

This was shot thirty hours later.