"
Animal Rights 10.1.07 Monday
I was at work yesterday and a woman in the store had a little white dog with her. (People often bring their dogs with them -- it's no big deal to have them in the store.) I really enjoy talking to people about their dogs. They refer to them as members of their families, which is cute, I suppose.
Anyhow, this gal is walking around with her pooch, limp in her arms, browsing the merch. I walk from the front of the store out the side door to the patio behind her and say "Ohh, what a cute little dog!" thinking she'd gush and swoon and give her little mutt a smooch or nuzzle. She turns toward me, pup still in arm, and says "I'm sorry. We don't use the 'D-word' in our house."
"
October 20, 2013
Musings: Setting Forth
"
1.7.08
At this precise moment I feel like I'm doing precisely what I'm supposed to be doing in such a way that my doing it is somehow precisely in accordance with the universe, the planets, the stars... precisely.
Sitting in my cozy room, lots of windows, fading yet brilliant late afternoon light, a cup of tea, Beethoven sonatas, and my journals. This is it, right here, ladies and gentlemen. This is ME.
Falling over, falling off.
Tipping over, tilting --
Slow motion, it hits the floor
and I am still
unwilling to accept a clumsy label
unknowing of motive behind
mishap,
after mishap,
after mishap --
I think it's vanished, a fluke, the moon,
but retaliation is futile,
Sticking, there in my mind to remind me
of my ineptitude, remind me
I am Human.
from 10.3.07
1.7.08
At this precise moment I feel like I'm doing precisely what I'm supposed to be doing in such a way that my doing it is somehow precisely in accordance with the universe, the planets, the stars... precisely.
Sitting in my cozy room, lots of windows, fading yet brilliant late afternoon light, a cup of tea, Beethoven sonatas, and my journals. This is it, right here, ladies and gentlemen. This is ME.
Falling over, falling off.
Tipping over, tilting --
Slow motion, it hits the floor
and I am still
unwilling to accept a clumsy label
unknowing of motive behind
mishap,
after mishap,
after mishap --
I think it's vanished, a fluke, the moon,
but retaliation is futile,
Sticking, there in my mind to remind me
of my ineptitude, remind me
I am Human.
from 10.3.07
Pangs of guilt and regret of years of wishing and waiting, nagging like your own shadow surprising you on a dark walkway under pale diffused light, leaving you jolted, embarrassed, and still alone, still --
Like your empty bed sitting cold in your cold room with little beetles burrowing between the sheets and they'll be there when you get home, having seen no one and talked to no one worth mentioning or worth the feelings of your absent heart.
from 10.15.07
"
Musings Overview
I found a very tiny faux Moleskine in a bucket on the bottom shelf of
a bookcase. It is filled with beautiful, breathtaking, completely
insightful and wildly delicate drawings, words, ideas from late
2007-early 2008.
I was in college then.
I remember these tiny sketchbooks I kept. At the time they were merely a dumping ground for all the gunk floating around in my brain at any given moment. A place to purge. Remove. Record. Repeat.
I never suspected I would encounter one years later and be fully swept away by its contents.
It is truly a gem. Anyone who knows me knows this is not a sentiment I reserve for my own makings. I am simply that struck.
Tiny, itty bitty portraits drawn with one of those stupidly fine Micron pens, ones I would inevitably end up throwing away because I pushed too hard ONE time and the tip was toast. Face after face of fleeting, careful moments in the day-to-day existence of a 22-year-old college student whose life just seemed so. Hard. Always…
Microscopic doodlings of J so delicately exacting the most perfect mark with a razor blade on a sixty pound chunk of stone.
The wiry outline of a Volkswagon sitting across the street from the bus stop I grew to love and loathe.
A crisp rendition of a bottle of Crystal Geyser water perched on the edge of my workstation, embodying the soul of those moments when I realized I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Wanting to crawl away and sleep.
Haiku after ridiculous haiku about nothing at all, like I am a small child first discovering he has legs, and deeply understanding the power such knowledge wields.
And writing, too. Poetry, sense impressions, thoughts... I will post a few here, as I'd like to continue enjoying them over and over again, and maybe you will too.
XOXO
I was in college then.
I remember these tiny sketchbooks I kept. At the time they were merely a dumping ground for all the gunk floating around in my brain at any given moment. A place to purge. Remove. Record. Repeat.
I never suspected I would encounter one years later and be fully swept away by its contents.
It is truly a gem. Anyone who knows me knows this is not a sentiment I reserve for my own makings. I am simply that struck.
Tiny, itty bitty portraits drawn with one of those stupidly fine Micron pens, ones I would inevitably end up throwing away because I pushed too hard ONE time and the tip was toast. Face after face of fleeting, careful moments in the day-to-day existence of a 22-year-old college student whose life just seemed so. Hard. Always…
Microscopic doodlings of J so delicately exacting the most perfect mark with a razor blade on a sixty pound chunk of stone.
The wiry outline of a Volkswagon sitting across the street from the bus stop I grew to love and loathe.
A crisp rendition of a bottle of Crystal Geyser water perched on the edge of my workstation, embodying the soul of those moments when I realized I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Wanting to crawl away and sleep.
Haiku after ridiculous haiku about nothing at all, like I am a small child first discovering he has legs, and deeply understanding the power such knowledge wields.
And writing, too. Poetry, sense impressions, thoughts... I will post a few here, as I'd like to continue enjoying them over and over again, and maybe you will too.
XOXO
July 2, 2013
Trying My Hand
"I've been sitting in the coffee shop for almost three hours, reading the second book I flipped through at Powell's four and a half hours ago. I could be a writer, if I were disciplined. I'm great at first drafts. I don't even like to read, but this book and I have quickly developed a strange and very fast relationship. It's like it knows me. It's like the book is reading me. It simultaneously makes me feel less and more lonely than I did last night, when I cried emptily into my soft pillow with the lavender case, the inky mascara stains growing bigger and inkier with each plea.
I prayed for sleep. It took nearly four hours, two glasses of water, one muscle relaxer, and the sun setting, but God finally answered. While I slept for what felt like an unnaturally long time, I awoke alert and weak at 4:15am, wishing there was more sleep left in me. I remained still, like I didn't want the other person in the room to know I had woken, only there was nobody. I stayed curled in a tight ball, wishing myself away. Wishing I could reverse time. The hole of loneliness in my belly grew bigger and more intense, throbbing, urging, and then waned, over and over again, in a terrible cycle. Somehow, though, I was able to keep the tears back with each sweeping wave. I did this for three hours, until I couldn't take it anymore and finally agreed to one cup of coffee, and we would see how things go. (And by "we" I mean Me and Myself.)
The stories in the book are both deeply disturbing and also comforting. The tales of broken women and the desperate quietness of their shortcomings strike me as equally beautiful and tragic. The beauty is the part that makes me less lonely; the tragedy, more.
I have been drinking the same cup of coffee for three hours and I've yet to see the bottom of the mug. It's probably because it makes my stomach hurt, but I drink it anyway, because I love it. I suppose that is an unhealthy perspective and not too dissimilar from an unhealthy love relationship. I am writing now only because I spent this time reading a book by an author I have never read, and now I am writing like her. It makes me think I am too impressionable. I see drawings and mimic them in my own. I see women and think I, too, can be adventurous in fashion. I read a particular style of writing and want it to be mine.
I have only spoken to two people today and both were working registers. My face has not moved really, since last night when I finally found relief from my own mind. It feels like plastic.
It is warm today and my eyeliner is melting off, leaving smudges underneath, and I don't care. I am so still, and my hair is ugly, and I keep drinking the coffee, and I don't care.
I have a hard time being the rock in the stream. I am always the water. Is it because I am easygoing? Or because I am afraid? Or some woven combination of both? I have needed to pee for one half hour but I can't make myself go. The thought of asking someone to watch my backpack for two and three quarters minutes makes me cringe. And I despise public restrooms.
Today is not about talking to other people. Today is about being away from home, about not being alone, and about being silent. Though, I am starting to tire a little from the R&B music that is playing the slightest amount too loud. The kind of volume that interrupts the thought every three to four minutes or so, making it very difficult to write the first draft that I am fairly certain I will never finish. The coffee shop has nearly emptied out but I am reluctant to leave. Maybe the too-loud music is the only thing keeping me from myself right now. I don't want to be at home. The evenings are the worst. But I am impossible. I want to live alone for seventy one more years but I do not want to be lonely. I cannot help that my Sun, Moon, Venus, and Mars are all in side-by-side signs. It is a non-complementary duality I keep telling myself the perfect person will be able to negotiate. Preferably, with skill. Maybe it's just too complex a thing.
Maybe I actually do like the R&B filling the warm, still room with the high ceilings and worn wood floors. (This town is pretentious about the decor looking just worn enough.) Maybe the R&B is keeping me from myself, just enough. The pressure in my abdomen has increased to such a degree that I won't make it fifteen more minutes before needing to locate the nearest loo. Only, I am going to make it more challenging by refusing to use the public one, even though mine at home is probably dirtier, and the floor has more hair on it. It's been almost four hours now. My face is hot and I am stuck in a rock wall of indecision.
The sun is going to be out for at least another three and one quarter more hours and my bedroom just doesn't get dark enough to sleep before it's time. I may need to invest in some Tylenol PM."
I prayed for sleep. It took nearly four hours, two glasses of water, one muscle relaxer, and the sun setting, but God finally answered. While I slept for what felt like an unnaturally long time, I awoke alert and weak at 4:15am, wishing there was more sleep left in me. I remained still, like I didn't want the other person in the room to know I had woken, only there was nobody. I stayed curled in a tight ball, wishing myself away. Wishing I could reverse time. The hole of loneliness in my belly grew bigger and more intense, throbbing, urging, and then waned, over and over again, in a terrible cycle. Somehow, though, I was able to keep the tears back with each sweeping wave. I did this for three hours, until I couldn't take it anymore and finally agreed to one cup of coffee, and we would see how things go. (And by "we" I mean Me and Myself.)
The stories in the book are both deeply disturbing and also comforting. The tales of broken women and the desperate quietness of their shortcomings strike me as equally beautiful and tragic. The beauty is the part that makes me less lonely; the tragedy, more.
I have been drinking the same cup of coffee for three hours and I've yet to see the bottom of the mug. It's probably because it makes my stomach hurt, but I drink it anyway, because I love it. I suppose that is an unhealthy perspective and not too dissimilar from an unhealthy love relationship. I am writing now only because I spent this time reading a book by an author I have never read, and now I am writing like her. It makes me think I am too impressionable. I see drawings and mimic them in my own. I see women and think I, too, can be adventurous in fashion. I read a particular style of writing and want it to be mine.
I have only spoken to two people today and both were working registers. My face has not moved really, since last night when I finally found relief from my own mind. It feels like plastic.
It is warm today and my eyeliner is melting off, leaving smudges underneath, and I don't care. I am so still, and my hair is ugly, and I keep drinking the coffee, and I don't care.
I have a hard time being the rock in the stream. I am always the water. Is it because I am easygoing? Or because I am afraid? Or some woven combination of both? I have needed to pee for one half hour but I can't make myself go. The thought of asking someone to watch my backpack for two and three quarters minutes makes me cringe. And I despise public restrooms.
Today is not about talking to other people. Today is about being away from home, about not being alone, and about being silent. Though, I am starting to tire a little from the R&B music that is playing the slightest amount too loud. The kind of volume that interrupts the thought every three to four minutes or so, making it very difficult to write the first draft that I am fairly certain I will never finish. The coffee shop has nearly emptied out but I am reluctant to leave. Maybe the too-loud music is the only thing keeping me from myself right now. I don't want to be at home. The evenings are the worst. But I am impossible. I want to live alone for seventy one more years but I do not want to be lonely. I cannot help that my Sun, Moon, Venus, and Mars are all in side-by-side signs. It is a non-complementary duality I keep telling myself the perfect person will be able to negotiate. Preferably, with skill. Maybe it's just too complex a thing.
Maybe I actually do like the R&B filling the warm, still room with the high ceilings and worn wood floors. (This town is pretentious about the decor looking just worn enough.) Maybe the R&B is keeping me from myself, just enough. The pressure in my abdomen has increased to such a degree that I won't make it fifteen more minutes before needing to locate the nearest loo. Only, I am going to make it more challenging by refusing to use the public one, even though mine at home is probably dirtier, and the floor has more hair on it. It's been almost four hours now. My face is hot and I am stuck in a rock wall of indecision.
The sun is going to be out for at least another three and one quarter more hours and my bedroom just doesn't get dark enough to sleep before it's time. I may need to invest in some Tylenol PM."
June 13, 2013
From June 12, 2013
I know I have quite a bit of catching up to do -- I don't think I've yet posted the photos from the FIRST figure drawing class -- but I figured while I'm here, I might as well stick up the ones from yesterday.
My mark is getting freer, my line more unabashed.
It is delightful.
My mark is getting freer, my line more unabashed.
It is delightful.
 |
| (my fave <3) |
June 1, 2013
In Blended Pursuit
Today I did a very grown up thing.
Today I welcomed myself into the twentieth century.
(Yes, I said twentieth century.)
Really, I welcomed myself into the 1920s.
(Yes, I had to Google the year the blender was invented. 1922, if your curiosity is just burning...)
Today: I bought a blender.
The times I ever do anything "grown up" are typically when my desire to consume something delicious outweighs my ability to deflect the craving any longer. This is the only method by which I learned to cook. Shit dammit frick. I want [insert amazing delectable dish], just like Mom makes...
With The Method, I've become especially proficient at Breakfast: An Adventure in Baconology, and moderately proficient in Sides: Excerpts from Coleslaw, Deviled Eggs, & Salad Dressings.
Anyway, back to the blender. So I went for a four-mile run (jog) tonight and it felt amazing! I'm gradually working up to where I was before the car accident. I'm close, and I'm patient. The process is fairly exhilarating.
When I got home I was completely spent and all I wanted in the world was a fruit smoothie. Nowhere near my house is a place to get a smoothie (plus I already spent way too much money for twelve ounces of smoothie earlier in the afternoon and for whatever reason my mind would not allow a similar purchase twice in one day.
(I know, weirdo.)
I also think the process of making a smoothie also seemed rather desirable on this particular eve, so a purchase of said blender emerged as a logical pursuit.
I came.
I blended.
I conquered.
Today I welcomed myself into the twentieth century.
(Yes, I said twentieth century.)
Really, I welcomed myself into the 1920s.
(Yes, I had to Google the year the blender was invented. 1922, if your curiosity is just burning...)
Today: I bought a blender.
The times I ever do anything "grown up" are typically when my desire to consume something delicious outweighs my ability to deflect the craving any longer. This is the only method by which I learned to cook. Shit dammit frick. I want [insert amazing delectable dish], just like Mom makes...
With The Method, I've become especially proficient at Breakfast: An Adventure in Baconology, and moderately proficient in Sides: Excerpts from Coleslaw, Deviled Eggs, & Salad Dressings.
Anyway, back to the blender. So I went for a four-mile run (jog) tonight and it felt amazing! I'm gradually working up to where I was before the car accident. I'm close, and I'm patient. The process is fairly exhilarating.
When I got home I was completely spent and all I wanted in the world was a fruit smoothie. Nowhere near my house is a place to get a smoothie (plus I already spent way too much money for twelve ounces of smoothie earlier in the afternoon and for whatever reason my mind would not allow a similar purchase twice in one day.
(I know, weirdo.)
I also think the process of making a smoothie also seemed rather desirable on this particular eve, so a purchase of said blender emerged as a logical pursuit.
I came.
I blended.
I conquered.
 |
| Hallo, Beauty. |
May 27, 2013
Before the Rain Arrived [Cultivating 'Today']
Yesterday I felt some restlessness creeping in while the afternoon approached. For the most part I fend it off well enough, but the doubt worms a little hole in my brain and unease can then readily take over. I find when this happens, and when I become too self aware, too observant of me going about my day, rather than simply going about my day, experiencing nature helps tremendously. It gets me grounded. Kind of like a "reset" button on my mood. Most often it is as simple as taking a walk.
I decided to sit on a bench in the beautiful park across the street and see what might happen in my sketchbook. A few drawings of the sinking sun, some budding roses, and thick puffy clouds later and my mission was complete: fully grounded, fully here. Doing this simple activity was music enough for my spirit, but the sun soon disappeared behind a curtain of cumulus, the air turned cold and the wind became insistent.
I began my short walk back through the park towards Home. The old trees towered over me and the sky, in varied and deepening shades of grey and blue, churned steadily after me like someone stirring a gallon of paint with a skyscraper-sized stick. The chilled air kissed my cheeks. I could feel my soul sigh with peace and happiness. True happiness. I felt it surge up from my feet, through my knees, my gut and settle in my chest, heavy but happy.
Contentment.
Then a thought, fully formed and revelatory: "What a gift, what a blessing it is that I get to live the life that I want." And what else is it besides a blessing that not only do I have the opportunity to live the life that I want, but that I am actually doing so, living it, and then it brings me real fulfillment? The last three days have brought overwhelming contentment and satisfaction, the feeling of not needing or requiring one single thing more in this whole world. That in these moments, I have everything I want and need, and I am Whole. That I have the ability to cultivate today, not yesterday or tomorrow, and each moment I breathe unfolds as its own tiny miracle, over and over again. As I described it to Brother: All of my many buckets are full.
While I understand I cannot always feel the bliss of such supreme moments, I cherish them when they gently arrive and float back out again, like a wave kissing the shore.
I decided to sit on a bench in the beautiful park across the street and see what might happen in my sketchbook. A few drawings of the sinking sun, some budding roses, and thick puffy clouds later and my mission was complete: fully grounded, fully here. Doing this simple activity was music enough for my spirit, but the sun soon disappeared behind a curtain of cumulus, the air turned cold and the wind became insistent.
I began my short walk back through the park towards Home. The old trees towered over me and the sky, in varied and deepening shades of grey and blue, churned steadily after me like someone stirring a gallon of paint with a skyscraper-sized stick. The chilled air kissed my cheeks. I could feel my soul sigh with peace and happiness. True happiness. I felt it surge up from my feet, through my knees, my gut and settle in my chest, heavy but happy.
Contentment.
Then a thought, fully formed and revelatory: "What a gift, what a blessing it is that I get to live the life that I want." And what else is it besides a blessing that not only do I have the opportunity to live the life that I want, but that I am actually doing so, living it, and then it brings me real fulfillment? The last three days have brought overwhelming contentment and satisfaction, the feeling of not needing or requiring one single thing more in this whole world. That in these moments, I have everything I want and need, and I am Whole. That I have the ability to cultivate today, not yesterday or tomorrow, and each moment I breathe unfolds as its own tiny miracle, over and over again. As I described it to Brother: All of my many buckets are full.
While I understand I cannot always feel the bliss of such supreme moments, I cherish them when they gently arrive and float back out again, like a wave kissing the shore.
Parking Lots Appear to Be A Theme
Dream
May 27, 2013
I walk through a parking lot, some of the cars are familiar -- I am wearing a skirt, or maybe a dress, with purple on it, and a cardigan -- Fancy, with somewhere to go -- I see your car and need to put my purse on the back seat for later -- I start to open the side sliding door and you appear, almost materialize from the front of the hood, a disturbingly strange expression on your face -- contorted, odd, not you -- I can tell you find it odd I am putting my purse in your car -- Makes sense to me, especially after the other day --
"You can't use your car?" you ask, uncharacteristically defensive -- you are so kind other times --
"It's not here, I need this for later," I respond -- While this is true, my other car is nearby and I'm sure you notice -- the embarrassment seeps in, feel my face get hot -- You have the strangest grin, a huge toothy smile -- Are you hiding something? -- Gripping the back of your pants and facing me, even when you begin to walk away --
"What's that smile for?" I inquire -- You shake your head, still with maniacal grin, trying to cover a spot on your pants -- "Did you sit in something?"
"I don't know what you mean," --
Confused and disoriented, I leave my purse -- Did i miss something? -- An oddness settles in my belly -- the sky looms dark and painted, closing in on me --
I wander through the lot, cars and cars, wondering, waiting -- the sense that leaving my purse is a catastrophic idea -- He doesn't want you in any part of his life -- It's not okay to do those kinds of things anymore --
You are at the other end of the lot on a patch of grass taking photos with the rest of the party -- Blues and greens, and bow ties -- They line you up with the others, positioning just so, all the while you attempt to disguise what I have now deduced is the puddle of water you sat in that soaked your pants -- I watch for a few moments, wondering if you see me, knowing acutely you don't ever think twice --
I turn around to find your car and it has moved -- start to run and feel frantic, searching, yearning -- I know where it is, I just have to get there, just have to finish this and be done with it -- I see it across the lot away from other cars, underneath concrete beams and a door -- you are sitting in the passenger seat talking on the phone -- I approach the window and gesture "I'm sorry to bug you" -- Your face reads irritation, my heart sinks into my feet -- I realize now, for the first time, it will never be the same -- I open the side door, grab my purse as fast as possible, knowing I crossed some imperceptible boundary -- I feel awful, helpless --
May 27, 2013
I walk through a parking lot, some of the cars are familiar -- I am wearing a skirt, or maybe a dress, with purple on it, and a cardigan -- Fancy, with somewhere to go -- I see your car and need to put my purse on the back seat for later -- I start to open the side sliding door and you appear, almost materialize from the front of the hood, a disturbingly strange expression on your face -- contorted, odd, not you -- I can tell you find it odd I am putting my purse in your car -- Makes sense to me, especially after the other day --
"You can't use your car?" you ask, uncharacteristically defensive -- you are so kind other times --
"It's not here, I need this for later," I respond -- While this is true, my other car is nearby and I'm sure you notice -- the embarrassment seeps in, feel my face get hot -- You have the strangest grin, a huge toothy smile -- Are you hiding something? -- Gripping the back of your pants and facing me, even when you begin to walk away --
"What's that smile for?" I inquire -- You shake your head, still with maniacal grin, trying to cover a spot on your pants -- "Did you sit in something?"
"I don't know what you mean," --
Confused and disoriented, I leave my purse -- Did i miss something? -- An oddness settles in my belly -- the sky looms dark and painted, closing in on me --
I wander through the lot, cars and cars, wondering, waiting -- the sense that leaving my purse is a catastrophic idea -- He doesn't want you in any part of his life -- It's not okay to do those kinds of things anymore --
You are at the other end of the lot on a patch of grass taking photos with the rest of the party -- Blues and greens, and bow ties -- They line you up with the others, positioning just so, all the while you attempt to disguise what I have now deduced is the puddle of water you sat in that soaked your pants -- I watch for a few moments, wondering if you see me, knowing acutely you don't ever think twice --
I turn around to find your car and it has moved -- start to run and feel frantic, searching, yearning -- I know where it is, I just have to get there, just have to finish this and be done with it -- I see it across the lot away from other cars, underneath concrete beams and a door -- you are sitting in the passenger seat talking on the phone -- I approach the window and gesture "I'm sorry to bug you" -- Your face reads irritation, my heart sinks into my feet -- I realize now, for the first time, it will never be the same -- I open the side door, grab my purse as fast as possible, knowing I crossed some imperceptible boundary -- I feel awful, helpless --
All Women (and Maybe Men Too, If They Want) Should Read This
Love this blog post about body image and strength. I can do without the political interjection somewhere in the middle, but nonetheless -- the message is great.
http://sophieologie.wordpress.com/2013/04/30/strong-is-the-new-skinny/
http://sophieologie.wordpress.com/2013/04/30/strong-is-the-new-skinny/
May 26, 2013
Finding Figure Drawing
I've recently had a breakthrough of sorts. I must backtrack.
I was farting around on Tumblr one day a couple weeks ago and I came across a painting that nearly knocked me out of my chair. This painting, a HUGE portrait of a girl's face, completely took my breath away.
(To view, go here: http://www.elly.ca/)
I nosed around her website for a while and not long into said nosing did I start to feel bad about myself.
I know, I KNOW. It is so stupid to compare your art to someone else's. You can never make someone else's art. There mere idea is fundamentally impossible. However, I still could not keep my insecurities from bubbling up to the surface. They don't very often, with art, but that day they bubbled quite violently.
I think part of it is this artist's work embodies something I would love to be able to achieve in my own work: painting emotionally and loosely, with careful and beautiful use of color.
I moped for a while and then started thinking.
What do I feel my work has been missing lately?
Where do I feel I'm not exploring enough?
What kind of feelings am I trying to communicate?
How do I communicate those feelings?
To answer my own ponderings, I feel my work has been lacking an energy, a vitality, a movement that it once had years ago. The gesture and brushy quality that launched my interest in texture and light. I've swayed the other direction into a more careful and illustrative approach -- I don't believe "too far" the other direction is the proper way to describe this, as all explorations into an idea serve a specific, useful, and grand function in the overall body of work and pursuit of ideas -- but this stirring of insecurities I now see clearly as marking a shift moving back the other direction: painting more expressively, accessing emotions more, responding and reacting openly to the material and the surface, placing less judgment on a mark or expression, being able to laugh at myself and keep trucking on in a very "air" kind of way.
I really do need to credit Jamie with helping me realize these things. We were chatting online and she slapped me with this:
[Regarding stumbling upon other good artists]
[and what to do about it]
Pics of my most recent painting to follow!
I was farting around on Tumblr one day a couple weeks ago and I came across a painting that nearly knocked me out of my chair. This painting, a HUGE portrait of a girl's face, completely took my breath away.
(To view, go here: http://www.elly.ca/)
I nosed around her website for a while and not long into said nosing did I start to feel bad about myself.
I know, I KNOW. It is so stupid to compare your art to someone else's. You can never make someone else's art. There mere idea is fundamentally impossible. However, I still could not keep my insecurities from bubbling up to the surface. They don't very often, with art, but that day they bubbled quite violently.
I think part of it is this artist's work embodies something I would love to be able to achieve in my own work: painting emotionally and loosely, with careful and beautiful use of color.
I moped for a while and then started thinking.
What do I feel my work has been missing lately?
Where do I feel I'm not exploring enough?
What kind of feelings am I trying to communicate?
How do I communicate those feelings?
To answer my own ponderings, I feel my work has been lacking an energy, a vitality, a movement that it once had years ago. The gesture and brushy quality that launched my interest in texture and light. I've swayed the other direction into a more careful and illustrative approach -- I don't believe "too far" the other direction is the proper way to describe this, as all explorations into an idea serve a specific, useful, and grand function in the overall body of work and pursuit of ideas -- but this stirring of insecurities I now see clearly as marking a shift moving back the other direction: painting more expressively, accessing emotions more, responding and reacting openly to the material and the surface, placing less judgment on a mark or expression, being able to laugh at myself and keep trucking on in a very "air" kind of way.
I really do need to credit Jamie with helping me realize these things. We were chatting online and she slapped me with this:
[Regarding stumbling upon other good artists]
I hate that so much. But we are who we are. We can't change it.
But we can take bits of other people and make it our own
[and what to do about it]
Girl, your talent is better than tht. You DO have it in you. You gotta work it out!
Keep pushing. Play with color. Spend a day mixing color even! Make a color wheel in your sketch book. Definitely find a figure group. This girl has great gesture an emotion and is good with color.
You can be that too! But better cuz youre you. And f her website. It's better than mine lol
I cannot describe how much I love this girl. She always knows exactly, precisely, what to say.
But her mention of figure drawing lit me up inside. THAT'S the thing that's missing. THAT is the key to communicating the energy and gesture in my paintings -- getting my brain moving, thinking, buzzing with form and movement. FIGURE DRAWING. Drawing from a live model, in a room with other people drawing, something in which I am so expert yet haven't pursued for... five YEARS? Jesus Christ. That is five years I've not done what my soul is telling me to do.
Hipbone Studio has three sessions a week for $10 per session. Two of them I plan to attend on a weekly basis (the third is during the workday). I went to my first session last Wednesday and it appears I've still got it in me...
Pics of my most recent painting to follow!
May 16, 2013
Painted Skies and Purple Blankets
Dream
May 15, 2013
I am distracted, in a field, twirling and laughing -- you are there too, nearby -- by my side, laughing and talking and following me wherever I go -- The grass is tall, the sky bright and close -- You are wearing a blue shirt, the deep ocean blue one that I love so much, that makes the brown of your eyes dark and rich -- Your face is happy and warm --
I move about the field fluidly, under the huge sky -- You are always by my side -- I wonder if you will always be there with me, if there is anything I can do that will make you run away, disappear -- I run a few yards in opposite directions -- I stop and turn back, you are there, laughing -- Your smile the light of the sun itself! -- the colors of the green grass and purple sky are saturated and thick -- a painted world rich with life, love --
We fall --
Lying on the ground you tell me a whimsical story and I laugh and laugh -- Time slows, stops, the most painstakingly wonderful eternity it takes for you to kiss my cheek -- a most perfect kiss! -- more beautiful than I'd imagined a thousand times in my mind, in my heart --
We swim in purple and white blankets -- Sheepish and giddy, I wonder if you will hug me -- I wonder if you are real -- I am the little spoon, even though you are shorter than me, hand resting gently on my hip -- the most natural thing in the world -- How could I not have imagined? Why was I afraid?
I am whole -- complete -- at peace with the unrest, One with the struggle -- Your soul lights mine and mine yours, and we laugh --
May 15, 2013
I am distracted, in a field, twirling and laughing -- you are there too, nearby -- by my side, laughing and talking and following me wherever I go -- The grass is tall, the sky bright and close -- You are wearing a blue shirt, the deep ocean blue one that I love so much, that makes the brown of your eyes dark and rich -- Your face is happy and warm --
I move about the field fluidly, under the huge sky -- You are always by my side -- I wonder if you will always be there with me, if there is anything I can do that will make you run away, disappear -- I run a few yards in opposite directions -- I stop and turn back, you are there, laughing -- Your smile the light of the sun itself! -- the colors of the green grass and purple sky are saturated and thick -- a painted world rich with life, love --
We fall --
Lying on the ground you tell me a whimsical story and I laugh and laugh -- Time slows, stops, the most painstakingly wonderful eternity it takes for you to kiss my cheek -- a most perfect kiss! -- more beautiful than I'd imagined a thousand times in my mind, in my heart --
We swim in purple and white blankets -- Sheepish and giddy, I wonder if you will hug me -- I wonder if you are real -- I am the little spoon, even though you are shorter than me, hand resting gently on my hip -- the most natural thing in the world -- How could I not have imagined? Why was I afraid?
I am whole -- complete -- at peace with the unrest, One with the struggle -- Your soul lights mine and mine yours, and we laugh --
May 6, 2013
As I Say: It's Never Too Late
I finally -- FINALLY -- completed a fairly simple project that I've putting off for just about forever: buying a large piece of wood to use as a surface to tack loose canvas and paper to, so I don't wreck the walls in my apartment. I know -- I, too, cannot believe it took me this long...
Who doesn't love BIG STIFF WOOD?
And because the only place for the wood to go is where the piano was previously housed, le sweet piano then had nowhere to live. Solution? She is now in the boudoir, and along with some very thoughtful and careful rearranging turned my previously lackluster bedside table situation into THIS miraculous piece of decorating genius!
...and my favorite painting has never looked better. <3
May 2, 2013
Of Monsters and Empty Rooms
Dream
May 1, 2013
I stand in the living room, no furniture -- Bare, carpeted floors and some sheer white curtains hanging in front of French doors opening to a backyard -- Whose backyard? -- They are out there, it is out there, and I pace -- back and forth, wall to wall -- anxious, tense, keeping it together but still worried, unsure -- Can it see me? -- the carpet a dull beige, worn, dirty --
From an opening to my left emerges a hideous creature, a gigantic, grotesquely oversized Daddy Long Leg spider! -- Huge, massive spindly legs, a mechanically quick body -- it walks across the floor from the opening in the wall to the French doors on my right, right in front of me -- I cannot move -- it carries a strange posture, appearing visibly to be anxious in the way I am anxious, anticipating what I anticipate, outside those doors, wondering if it can be seen --
I observe the animal with an internal terror and disgust, but I do not flee -- oddly compelled, intensely curious -- I observe the creature move back and forth, wall to wall, darting swiftly over the dingy carpet, thin yet heavy legs thumping softly -- The more closely I observe I realize its legs are spider legs, but with a body partially spider and partially monkey -- a monkey spider? -- and amongst the legs emerge two small hands and a tiny face, coated in hair -- fur? -- I know it to have a mind, awareness, consciousness -- it feels pain, worry, fear -- horrifying in an otherworldly sense, yet beautiful and vulnerable --
May 1, 2013
I stand in the living room, no furniture -- Bare, carpeted floors and some sheer white curtains hanging in front of French doors opening to a backyard -- Whose backyard? -- They are out there, it is out there, and I pace -- back and forth, wall to wall -- anxious, tense, keeping it together but still worried, unsure -- Can it see me? -- the carpet a dull beige, worn, dirty --
From an opening to my left emerges a hideous creature, a gigantic, grotesquely oversized Daddy Long Leg spider! -- Huge, massive spindly legs, a mechanically quick body -- it walks across the floor from the opening in the wall to the French doors on my right, right in front of me -- I cannot move -- it carries a strange posture, appearing visibly to be anxious in the way I am anxious, anticipating what I anticipate, outside those doors, wondering if it can be seen --
I observe the animal with an internal terror and disgust, but I do not flee -- oddly compelled, intensely curious -- I observe the creature move back and forth, wall to wall, darting swiftly over the dingy carpet, thin yet heavy legs thumping softly -- The more closely I observe I realize its legs are spider legs, but with a body partially spider and partially monkey -- a monkey spider? -- and amongst the legs emerge two small hands and a tiny face, coated in hair -- fur? -- I know it to have a mind, awareness, consciousness -- it feels pain, worry, fear -- horrifying in an otherworldly sense, yet beautiful and vulnerable --
April 27, 2013
Shifting Crowds, Ocean Tides
It's been a while since I've posted a dream. Well, it's been a while since I've posted anything at all, but in particular a dream. Here goes...
Dream
April 23, 2013
I'm going to look at a new apartment in a high-rise, in the Lloyd District -- Something about this whole thing is forced, like moving is not my choice, but I don't fight it, I accept it as truth and reality -- I'm not angry or resentful, but matter of fact and clear -- This is what must happen -- A lady shows me the apartment, very small and already furnished -- I am struck by the oddness of the couch -- The main room is cramped, furniture ill-arrange, the colors drab and outdated -- I don't hate it, but I don't love it -- It doesn't occur to me that in moving somewhere else I will be LEAVING my current apartment -- All is well and dandy --
We walk around the grounds through the courtyard and around the block -- I am unfazed, indifferent -- I run errands, lost in thought about the new place, about the furniture and how I will change it to make it less awkward -- It starts to slowly dawn on me that I will be moving out of my current apartment, specifically that I will no longer have the art studio -- the new place is so cramped there is definitely not room for art making, let alone to house all of my belongings, now that I think of it -- I realize my exit from the freeway to get home is from I-84 and not I-5 -- something about this makes my heart sink into my feet, realizing I am, indeed, in a very different part of town -- I'll have to change my routes to get everywhere -- Slow, quiet panic --
It turns to nighttime, overwhelmed with sadness and confusion -- Why am I leaving my apartment? Does anybody else know? How could I have agreed to such a strange and awful venture? -- I visit the new building after the sun goes down -- Hallways filled with scarcely clothed teenage girls who appear to be heading to or from a swimming pool -- This feels like a hotel, or a dorm -- I am out of place and intensely uncomfortable -- I think This is so public, how will I ever get privacy? -- Despite the grassy knoll and parks on the ground floor far below, I am invaded, intruded upon -- The only way I'll ever find respite is in my apartment itself, which I don't even like and makes me uncomfortable --
Claw my way through crowds of teenagers, finally make it to my door and walk inside -- Even with all the lights on, it is still dim, tinged in gold, like Grandma's house -- I can't bear to be here -- I fight my way back downstairs to the ground level and go outside to explore the shops nearby -- I awoke early for this, the sun wasn't up yet -- I am awake before everybody so maybe I'll find some peace out here -- My feet step onto the sidewalk and I'm immediately shoved and pushed by a massive crowd of people on the sidewalk, shifting and moving like an ocean tide, moving not as individuals but as a whole group, as One --
San Francisco --
A huge food cart, almost like a cafeteria kitchen but entirely outside and uncovered, serving up steaming plates of food to an ornery gathering of drunk people -- It is already 4am and I thought I'd beat everybody here? -- But my morning is only beginning, and this crowd of people is topping off their night with a gut full of starchy food -- Nowhere can I step without being bumped into, shoved, pushed aside -- Oddly dark, for a city street -- The tops of people's heads aglow from the gold light of street lamps, heads moving and swaying and shifting like a giant amoebic being, hungry and restless -- I don't make it half a block before becoming frustrated and angry -- I turn back and cut my way through the hoard towards the hotel -- I will never have privacy! THIS is my front yard?! I cannot leave this building without being overrun by tides of people! -- I think of my art studio -- I think of the sunshine pouring in through the windows on a warm bright day -- I think of how perfect it is, perfect for me -- I feel tears starting to form in my guts and I try to hold them back -- It simply is not right --
Dream
April 23, 2013
I'm going to look at a new apartment in a high-rise, in the Lloyd District -- Something about this whole thing is forced, like moving is not my choice, but I don't fight it, I accept it as truth and reality -- I'm not angry or resentful, but matter of fact and clear -- This is what must happen -- A lady shows me the apartment, very small and already furnished -- I am struck by the oddness of the couch -- The main room is cramped, furniture ill-arrange, the colors drab and outdated -- I don't hate it, but I don't love it -- It doesn't occur to me that in moving somewhere else I will be LEAVING my current apartment -- All is well and dandy --
We walk around the grounds through the courtyard and around the block -- I am unfazed, indifferent -- I run errands, lost in thought about the new place, about the furniture and how I will change it to make it less awkward -- It starts to slowly dawn on me that I will be moving out of my current apartment, specifically that I will no longer have the art studio -- the new place is so cramped there is definitely not room for art making, let alone to house all of my belongings, now that I think of it -- I realize my exit from the freeway to get home is from I-84 and not I-5 -- something about this makes my heart sink into my feet, realizing I am, indeed, in a very different part of town -- I'll have to change my routes to get everywhere -- Slow, quiet panic --
It turns to nighttime, overwhelmed with sadness and confusion -- Why am I leaving my apartment? Does anybody else know? How could I have agreed to such a strange and awful venture? -- I visit the new building after the sun goes down -- Hallways filled with scarcely clothed teenage girls who appear to be heading to or from a swimming pool -- This feels like a hotel, or a dorm -- I am out of place and intensely uncomfortable -- I think This is so public, how will I ever get privacy? -- Despite the grassy knoll and parks on the ground floor far below, I am invaded, intruded upon -- The only way I'll ever find respite is in my apartment itself, which I don't even like and makes me uncomfortable --
Claw my way through crowds of teenagers, finally make it to my door and walk inside -- Even with all the lights on, it is still dim, tinged in gold, like Grandma's house -- I can't bear to be here -- I fight my way back downstairs to the ground level and go outside to explore the shops nearby -- I awoke early for this, the sun wasn't up yet -- I am awake before everybody so maybe I'll find some peace out here -- My feet step onto the sidewalk and I'm immediately shoved and pushed by a massive crowd of people on the sidewalk, shifting and moving like an ocean tide, moving not as individuals but as a whole group, as One --
San Francisco --
A huge food cart, almost like a cafeteria kitchen but entirely outside and uncovered, serving up steaming plates of food to an ornery gathering of drunk people -- It is already 4am and I thought I'd beat everybody here? -- But my morning is only beginning, and this crowd of people is topping off their night with a gut full of starchy food -- Nowhere can I step without being bumped into, shoved, pushed aside -- Oddly dark, for a city street -- The tops of people's heads aglow from the gold light of street lamps, heads moving and swaying and shifting like a giant amoebic being, hungry and restless -- I don't make it half a block before becoming frustrated and angry -- I turn back and cut my way through the hoard towards the hotel -- I will never have privacy! THIS is my front yard?! I cannot leave this building without being overrun by tides of people! -- I think of my art studio -- I think of the sunshine pouring in through the windows on a warm bright day -- I think of how perfect it is, perfect for me -- I feel tears starting to form in my guts and I try to hold them back -- It simply is not right --
April 26, 2013
Where Ground Meets Sky
This is where I go
when I want to be
on the edge of the world
floating
flying
the quiet of the earth
the hum of vastness
alone and away
in a crevice where ground meets sky
straddled between all there is
and all there ever was.
when I want to be
on the edge of the world
floating
flying
the quiet of the earth
the hum of vastness
alone and away
in a crevice where ground meets sky
straddled between all there is
and all there ever was.
April 23, 2013
An Evening Observation
I realized today why it is as if by magic that I have slipped into a very "bachelor" type of lifestyle, after starting to live alone again. The most apparent of bachelor choices being the food I'm eating and the manner in which I prepare it. On too many a night have I gorged on beer, Ramen and microwave eggrolls, not entirely understanding how in the known universe the eggrolls even made their way into my freezer in the first place and why I choose to devour them with such frequency.
I only realized today why this happens.
After taking a leisurely hour-and-a-half walk after work today (the sunshine is simply brilliant!), I came home to find I'd bought some groceries the night before, anticipating I would want something tasty for dinner tonight (that Pea, she knows me so well...) and, shockingly, I did want something tasty for dinner tonight.
I spent some wonderful time preparing delicious roasted broccoli, juicy savory turkey burgers, and a tangy spring mix salad with avocado, bell pepper, banana peppers, and an olive oil dressing. Everything was done all at the same time, so the hot food was hot, the cold food was cold, and I was just beside myself with excitement. (Food makes me very, very happy.)
I cleared a little edge on my round table that is piled (piled!) with stupid amounts of clutter. By God, I am GOING to eat this beautiful dinner at my table tonight! I put all the food on the table, opened my awesome windows, absorbed the gorgeous Spring air pouring in the back door, and dived in.
Only...
An overwhelming sense of loneliness quickly set in.
This amazing meal, this spectacular breeze, a complete setting that is purely divine -- and nobody to enjoy it with.
Hmm.
And it dawned on me: putting a lot of energy into cooking a great meal isn't as fun as it could be, if you can't share it with anyone.
Enter: frozen pot stickers, cans of tuna, and peanut butter sandwiches.
It all makes sense now.
And while I recognize the mild inherent loneliness in eating a great meal alone, I do feel way better having eaten something healthy and homemade, rather than gross and fast-food. Perhaps something on the Tube can be my companion for the meals to follow...
I only realized today why this happens.
After taking a leisurely hour-and-a-half walk after work today (the sunshine is simply brilliant!), I came home to find I'd bought some groceries the night before, anticipating I would want something tasty for dinner tonight (that Pea, she knows me so well...) and, shockingly, I did want something tasty for dinner tonight.
I spent some wonderful time preparing delicious roasted broccoli, juicy savory turkey burgers, and a tangy spring mix salad with avocado, bell pepper, banana peppers, and an olive oil dressing. Everything was done all at the same time, so the hot food was hot, the cold food was cold, and I was just beside myself with excitement. (Food makes me very, very happy.)
I cleared a little edge on my round table that is piled (piled!) with stupid amounts of clutter. By God, I am GOING to eat this beautiful dinner at my table tonight! I put all the food on the table, opened my awesome windows, absorbed the gorgeous Spring air pouring in the back door, and dived in.
Only...
An overwhelming sense of loneliness quickly set in.
This amazing meal, this spectacular breeze, a complete setting that is purely divine -- and nobody to enjoy it with.
Hmm.
And it dawned on me: putting a lot of energy into cooking a great meal isn't as fun as it could be, if you can't share it with anyone.
Enter: frozen pot stickers, cans of tuna, and peanut butter sandwiches.
It all makes sense now.
And while I recognize the mild inherent loneliness in eating a great meal alone, I do feel way better having eaten something healthy and homemade, rather than gross and fast-food. Perhaps something on the Tube can be my companion for the meals to follow...
April 21, 2013
Play
I am finding that a big part of "adulthood" is remembering who we were when we were children. Because somehow a part of aging means forgetting what we were like in our purest, most honest state, before we learned to reason our way out of doing the things we enjoy.
As a child, were you imaginative? Restless? Did you write stories? Were you a poet? Did you spend hours entertaining ideas and fancies in your mind, in your soul, just because? Were you adventurous? Were you infinitely bold, courageous, free from fear, inhibition, self-consciousness? Were you an inventor? A doctor, sky diver, master chef? Were your thoughts quiet and contemplative, or electrified and limitless?
At some point along the way, and through no fault of our own, we start to forget these things. We are saddled with responsibility and distraction and practicality, and we stop doing the things that make us who we fundamentally are. We stop being in such a way that is truly reflective and resonant of our souls.
Remember who you used to be. Remember what it was that made you well up with joy, connection, and pure elation from your toes to the very top of your head. Remember what those things are and cultivate them. Today, now, every day.
Think
Draw
Paint
Read
Write
Want
Expect
Love
Contemplate
Seek
Ask
Play
As a child, were you imaginative? Restless? Did you write stories? Were you a poet? Did you spend hours entertaining ideas and fancies in your mind, in your soul, just because? Were you adventurous? Were you infinitely bold, courageous, free from fear, inhibition, self-consciousness? Were you an inventor? A doctor, sky diver, master chef? Were your thoughts quiet and contemplative, or electrified and limitless?
At some point along the way, and through no fault of our own, we start to forget these things. We are saddled with responsibility and distraction and practicality, and we stop doing the things that make us who we fundamentally are. We stop being in such a way that is truly reflective and resonant of our souls.
Remember who you used to be. Remember what it was that made you well up with joy, connection, and pure elation from your toes to the very top of your head. Remember what those things are and cultivate them. Today, now, every day.
Think
Draw
Paint
Read
Write
Want
Expect
Love
Contemplate
Seek
Ask
Play
April 20, 2013
Utilizing Saturday
...and another! Fantastic fun.
Jamie & JackJack
Graphite, Charcoal, Conte on Paper
28" x 36"
April 15, 2013
Meditation in Graphite
Some spontaneous Springtime weather snuck up on me this afternoon. It inspired me to walk the mile to Freddy's and grab some salad makings. I walked back home, threw together an AMAZING salad and then showed it who's boss. (ME. I am boss.)
A bit of inspiration started creeping in last night and today I was able to capitalize on it after dinner. I got fantastically sucked into this drawing and had the wherewithal to photograph the process. So, for funsies:
I rather like this drawing.
Oh, and have I mentioned I love nostrils? It's my new thing.
XOXO
A bit of inspiration started creeping in last night and today I was able to capitalize on it after dinner. I got fantastically sucked into this drawing and had the wherewithal to photograph the process. So, for funsies:
Portrait 4.15.13
Graphite on Paper
18" x 24"
I rather like this drawing.
Oh, and have I mentioned I love nostrils? It's my new thing.
XOXO
April 14, 2013
Don't Let Furniture [di]Stress You Out
I am notorious for starting projects and not finishing them. Or, wanting to start projects and never starting them. The fact that I not only began but COMPLETED a project I've been thinking about for years is a tremendous feat all its own. The resulting fantastically awesome piece of furniture is just a bonus.
I forgot to take a picture of the dresser before I removed all the drawers and I didn't feel like putting them back in just for a photo. So here are the "before" photos, getting prepped to paint:
Here are the steps to distressing from a total amateur who has never done this before:
I forgot to take a picture of the dresser before I removed all the drawers and I didn't feel like putting them back in just for a photo. So here are the "before" photos, getting prepped to paint:
I bought it several years ago at Hawthorne Vintage while I was still living in The Hut. I liked the way the bold blue color looked on the black and white checkered floors. But once I got it in my room here at The Brain, it just didn't hold together very well with the décor. I've been wanting to distress a piece of furniture for a long time, so it seemed like the perfect time.
Nelle also had a piece she wanted to distress so we brought the dressers to her house and over a few sporadic sessions not without many, many beers and bonfires, I distressed the crap out this already pretty damn awesome piece of furniture.
Here are the steps to distressing from a total amateur who has never done this before:
- Paint everything white (or whatever color you want the piece to be). I did two coats for evenness.
- Let it dry so it's fully set. I left it for several days.
- Start with a coarse sandpaper and sand the places where you want the wear. It helps to be delicate with the coarse sandpaper -- too much pressure and it'll take off the color underneath.
- Go over everything with a medium-grit sandpaper to refine the worn areas.
- Finish with a very fine sandpaper to smooth out rough edges and snags. Wipe everything down with a cloth.
- I topped it off with vintage-inspired knobs from Hippo Hardware (which, by the way, is the best place ever on earth, EVER. http://www.hippohardware.com/index.htm?lmd=40605.680382). For variety I used five of the clear glass fluted knobs, two clean-lined metallic grey knobs, and *one* clear glass amethyst colored knob and mixed them up. Finished with the badass gilded mirror I bought the same day I bought the couch.
April 5, 2013
Holy $#!t It's Been a While
So.
It's been six months.
I know I kind of fell off the face of the earth for a while... But I hope you trust I have been productive and buzzing with creativity in addition to making some major life changes. And I have not forgotten the beloved Teapot.
First off: the Boy and I broke up and he moved out. I won't go into detail but it's important to note we are still wonderful friends. I've been living alone in The Brain (what I have now dubbed the place that houses my Mess and me) since early January. I am totally loving it. It's been a while since I've lived alone, truly alone, and there is no other way to describe the feeling than it being overwhelmingly the most perfect thing for me right now.
Secondly, my levels of inspiration and creativity have spiked drastically. I'm painting like a fiend, writing up a storm, and drawing like a madwoman. I made it my Official 2013 Goal to paint two paintings per month. So far I'm almost on track -- two in January, one in February, two in March. If I do three in April I'll be good to go but I'm feeling really great about the progress nonetheless. I have been posting the pictures on Facebook but I'll put them here too. To say I am excited about the recent paintings is a stupidly massive understatement.
Thirdly, I've been doing more reading, thinking and pondering. I have thus far categorically rejected the concept of Time (it simply does not exist), reinforced the power and magnitude of soul connections, and embraced my deep, unrealized love for the perfume "Fame" by Lady Gaga. (I know, go figure...) There is more, a lot more, to say about topics falling into the "existential" realm but I will discuss those at a later time.
Lastly, I bought myself a computer. A new computer. A little 15.6-inch HP laptop with Windows 8. I would like to note how monumental this is. This is not only the first computer I have ever bought, ever, but the only computer I've ever used that is mine and only mine, not shared, nor used for other things like work or school. The feeling of purchasing my own computer with my own money for my own purposes is a fantastic feeling. Powerful, big, "grown up." Still not sure what being an "adult" means, but I'm getting closer to understanding, I think... maybe......
(Do we ever feel like "adults?")
I hope to do some more regular writing and posting on the wee Teapot, the poor neglected thing... The good thing about her is she doesn't judge me, and has waited quietly and patiently for my return.
More to follow.
xoxo
It's been six months.
I know I kind of fell off the face of the earth for a while... But I hope you trust I have been productive and buzzing with creativity in addition to making some major life changes. And I have not forgotten the beloved Teapot.
First off: the Boy and I broke up and he moved out. I won't go into detail but it's important to note we are still wonderful friends. I've been living alone in The Brain (what I have now dubbed the place that houses my Mess and me) since early January. I am totally loving it. It's been a while since I've lived alone, truly alone, and there is no other way to describe the feeling than it being overwhelmingly the most perfect thing for me right now.
Secondly, my levels of inspiration and creativity have spiked drastically. I'm painting like a fiend, writing up a storm, and drawing like a madwoman. I made it my Official 2013 Goal to paint two paintings per month. So far I'm almost on track -- two in January, one in February, two in March. If I do three in April I'll be good to go but I'm feeling really great about the progress nonetheless. I have been posting the pictures on Facebook but I'll put them here too. To say I am excited about the recent paintings is a stupidly massive understatement.
Thirdly, I've been doing more reading, thinking and pondering. I have thus far categorically rejected the concept of Time (it simply does not exist), reinforced the power and magnitude of soul connections, and embraced my deep, unrealized love for the perfume "Fame" by Lady Gaga. (I know, go figure...) There is more, a lot more, to say about topics falling into the "existential" realm but I will discuss those at a later time.
Lastly, I bought myself a computer. A new computer. A little 15.6-inch HP laptop with Windows 8. I would like to note how monumental this is. This is not only the first computer I have ever bought, ever, but the only computer I've ever used that is mine and only mine, not shared, nor used for other things like work or school. The feeling of purchasing my own computer with my own money for my own purposes is a fantastic feeling. Powerful, big, "grown up." Still not sure what being an "adult" means, but I'm getting closer to understanding, I think... maybe......
(Do we ever feel like "adults?")
I hope to do some more regular writing and posting on the wee Teapot, the poor neglected thing... The good thing about her is she doesn't judge me, and has waited quietly and patiently for my return.
More to follow.
xoxo
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