Shit! Shit...shit...shit...shit!

It just hit me. I mean really, it just hit me.

As tempting as "The Annotated Ailes" is, I ain't doing that painting. For purely practical matters, I'm probably at about maximum media saturation right now, and certainly part of the marketing strategy for a painting like that is to get a bunch of media coverage. So, as lovely as the timing is with FBC's premiere on Monday, it just ain't happening. Another reason why it ain't happening is because it didn't happen. I mean, there's no painting. Nada.

But that's not the point. The point is this: Or, rather, the build-up to the point is this:

I sold two paintings from "inventory" the other day. Went to great lengths below to explain my feelings about said transaction. No need to dredge up more unpleasantness. And truth be told, "unpleasantness" isn't even close to the right word. I'm delighted to get the money. "Delighted!"--now that's a word. Plus, a man has to eat (caviar-speckled blinis at Petrossian, washed down with champagne). And my grieving at the loss of "Elena in the Morning" is coming to an end, so I'm pulling myself together. Plus, really, I've got to man-up a little bit here. What kind of an idiot becomes a painter, then falls apart when he sells one?

"Falls apart" is pretty strong, don't you think? I don't think you "fell apart." You just voiced an honest emotion about how much you were going to miss one particular painting. This is why people read your stupid blog. It would be strange if you weren't attached to the damned things.

Thank you. That's nicely said.

You're welcome. Although I did think your line about drooling so hard you were afraid you'd short out your digital camera was disgusting.

That again? I thought we were past that--what with all the explaining I did in the subsequent posts.

You will always be accountable for the shit that you do--you loathsome excuse for a human.

Hey. She wanted to take her clothes off.

Sure--after six Heinekens, two shots of sour mash whiskey and enough dope to sedate Secretariat. Puleeze.

So the point is this: I need more inventory. I need to be painting non-sensational images. Images like my Chuck Close painting. Bush Guernica (my as yet un-started magnum opus). The portrait of Rob from Elmo. The Chickens of Helmut Lang.

Have we discussed The Chickens of Helmut Lang?

Because if I keep selling from inventory (which is good), I'm gonna run out of the damned stuff (which is bad). Then what am I going to do?

The strategy is this (if you feel the need to know, first hand, straight from the horse's mouth, the Geoffrey Raymond strategy): Use the high-visibility paintings to: a) sell portraits to the financial elite and b) while I've got their attention, sell them what might be considered "fine art" paintings from inventory.

So that's what I'm doing. Don't bother calling--I won't pick up. Unless you are a member of the financial elite.

And if I haven't told you about The Chickens of Helmut Lang, remind me to. I can promise you, they are going to be huge. In every sense of the word. Mammoth.