Lehman Falls, Volume 2

I'm staring at my roll of white paper and sensing imminent doom.  Which is foolish.  After all, what's the worst thing I can do?  Look foolish?  That's half the point of The Year of Magical Painting.  The other half, if you're curious, is to emerge at the other end of such foolishness with a work of such startling loveliness that you, dear reader, can both rejoice in the majesty of my shit and realize that I am a positive role-model upon which you might base your entire life experience.  Or a subset thereof.

All that said, I'm still staring at my roll of paper.  El Toro Blanco, if you will.  I might start electronically.  See how I feel about that.