Bright and sunny Arizona morning. Ed and Carson Mell came out about ten. I made pancakes for everyone (Deena and Tommy are still here). Carson showed us his latest short film based on an Arizona Bonnie and Clyde theme (it was rejected by Sundance last week). However, Carson is quite good as an actor and a filmmaker and the little sucker is going places, I'll vouch for that.
I showed Carson our raw footage of the Tombstone shoot and asked him for advice. He agreed we need to take a more gonzo approach.
After the screening, the boys and the dads (Ed and I) walked to the cave with the dogs. Came back up and listened to a rock group Carson is producing or backing I couldn't quite figure it out (Kids today!).
The Mells left around one and took off. Got a call from Carson saying he had left his sweater, so I grabbed it and my new, used bike and took off up the road to meet them. Buddy was so thrilled because as Ray Bradbury always says, "Every day is Christmas Day to a dog." And, of course, yesterday I got up and said to him, “Once every 365 days a year, you are right. It really is Christmas Day!"
Tomcat borrowed my truck at about two, and drove out to Fountain Hills to visit with Bill Glenn (Bill's grandmother died two days ago). Deena went shopping with Ursula and Kathy went down to Desert Ridge to meet them. They are then going to drive out to Surprise to Debbie Radina's house. I've had my fill of Radinas for awhile, so I stayed home with the dogs.
Many artists are so pathetic. And I am one of them. Carson and Ed came into my studio, which is a total pit (when I'm on deadline for a book, I have reference and partially finished pieces of art everywhere). Ed looked at one of my sketchbooks on the floor and said, "You are such a good draftsman." And I can't tell you how empowering that felt. Here's the sketches he was looking at.
Getting chilly out, so I went out and got some more wood for my stove. Deena, Kathy, Tomas, Ursula and I may meet at seven to go see Sideways. Or I may just stay home and veg.
"The highest condition of art is artlessness."
—Thoreau
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