|Robert Fulghum’s Art Studio|
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a view of Fulghum’s studio
Here’s a gallery of photographs taken on a cold, snowy day at the end of January in San Juan County, Utah. It’s a good day. I’ve just finished the re-write of my novel and sent the manuscript off to my Czech translator in Prague.
The pictures answer the question of where and how I write. Here’s a view of things in process. The putting-down-of-words, the thinking-through- ideas, and the non-verbal art take place in the same studio, one shaping and complimenting the other - some things on walls, some on canvas, some on tables. Every day the spaces change. Every day the trash cans fill up. Every day something comes to life or dies or is revived or abandoned or set afire by the spirits of creativity. A relentless adventure - sometimes success, sometimes defeat, always unpredictable.
Outside, in the snow, are sculptures made of wood and stone and steel, lying fallow in winter, but being eye-balled by me out the window, restless to rearrange the shapes when summer comes.
The man in the pictures, of course, is me - in paint-spattered smock and overalls. If you could see inside my head, you would find contentment.