Dennis Hollingsworth

Morning Singer

There were times when in those moments where my dad was exasperated with me, whe would admonish me thusly:

Dennis, you're like a chicken. You're born in a new world every day.

Oddly, I never felt stung by it. I seem to remember blinking like wet chick at the times that I would recieve this reproach, wondering what it meant.

Kid Billy Pilgrim.

Later, I would consider that it was not such a bad place to be afterall.

The New World

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I've been waiting until the last moment to box up these recent works on paper.

I've been lucky in that all of my work goes out to my galleries and everything is still in play out in the world. I have work stashed in our attic in Los Angeles, but surely not as much as I've seen other aritsts have. And while I am thankful for this circumstance, it would be nice to have more of my stuff around. (But then again I might chafe at the burden and pack them away anyway. Maybe later if things are good, I can buy back the work like McCartney and Jackson. ...er, hold off on the offers, my erstwhile collectors... I'm not there yet. Besides, if I come snooping around like that let me now issue a fair warning that that would be a sure signal to keep the work!).

Anyways, my studio is always empty as I begin a new project.

A new world every day.

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Remember Cantas Ma?anas?