Today, I stayed in, and painted. I've been working on the Lord's Supper painting, on my side, to the right. This side is like a state of shock, the shock the disciples must have felt when Jesus uttered, "One of you here has betrayed me." One had passed out, or maybe he was tired, and he fell asleep, never even hearing Jesus, drooling out his mouth, his teeth showing, dreaming he was at sea, or about a woman, a woman he set his eyes on in the crowds and he can't get her out of his mind, beautiful woman there in the sea of faces. He left everything, his family, he wife, his work, to follow this fanatic, this man whom those in the upper classes think is delirious and deranged, one inhabited by hosts of demons ... but this man, this Nazarene, always somehow shuts the mouths of those who confront him in their pride, scratching their heads as they walk away, or plotting to end his life ... and this Jesus already knows. Poor disciple, gray face, all you have is this man, and you were sleeping at his last supper, but you dreamed of him too, yes, you saw his face and heard his voice because he knew you passed out, and he entered your mind and broke you the news. Who is this disciple? I'm not sure yet, he hasn't told me. Another has a thermometer in his mouth, and has a fever. He sweats. Pale face. His mouth is dry ... agony and affairs. Metal and swords. His fever rises. I hold a book about insects here, and I think one of them wants to crawl out and walk the red table in the painting. The table, once finished, once arranged, set, will come to life ... we wanted the table to have character, crumbs carried by ants underneath the fingers of Thomas and John. The Art is glaring back at us, the Last Supper stares out at us ... Something is happening, Jesus is happening, Faith and Love and Hope and Joy is happening ... The Visions and Inspiration is appearing and reappearing in the night, Cannot Sleep...