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I stared at the same ass today for about eight hours and before I decided that I couldn't take it anymore. I had to stop painting.
Plus, since I install all the light bulbs in my house in at the same time, they tend to expire all at once, leaving me in relative darkness. Today I was so zoned out from painting said buttocks that I didn't even notice when it got to be dark in the room. If you are a painter, you know what a tragedy this is.
It causes one to make atrocious decisions regarding color and value that could easily be seen in daylight.
When I finally realized I was working in a virtual bat-cave, I turned on some lights in the room and saw that while most of the rear end I rendered was toned, sculpted, and nearly approaching perfection, a portion of it simply looked bruised and a little concave (see visual aid on the right)
Tom and I are having our five year anniversary on March 29. While he already gave me my present (Vibram Five Finger Shoes), I'm at a loss for what to get him. Although I was simply ecstatic to receive my new pair of kicks almost two weeks before the anniversary, I realize now that the early exchange of gifts is egregiously unfair. Specifically, to me. I'm romantically inclined, but after receiving a pair strange looking lizard clodhoppers for my gift, painting a picture or making a chapbook of sappy poetry seems too saccharine. As a rule, I don't give paintings as gifts because the people that I love enough to do this for don't value decorative objects enough to actually take care of them. I've broken this rule with Tom, but after seeing the stacks of drawings I've made him gathering dust under unopened boxes of vendetta valentine CDs, I'm thinking of reinforcing it.
So, should I spend the same amount purchasing him an item of clothing that is equally attention getting as my new shoes? Perhaps a necklace made out of guitar picks? A kitchen appliance? Of course, some people insist that the best gift on an anniversary is a kinky one, but after five years with the same person, nothing is kinky. My mom says I'm too young to be too cynical, to which I say, "Is cynical a derogatory way of saying wise?" If it is, I'm wise beyond my years. I know I'll think of something good, that isn't what he suggested I buy him (a gift certificate to Target)--but it will take some serious soul searching over the next day or two.
Also in breaking news, my band, the Art Stars broke up. Au revoir Art Stars. What a relief. First we told the rhythm guitarist and the drummer that they were no longer needed. Then, we tried out the idea of an acoustic version of our music. We told the bass player, David, that he should being his stand-up bass over so we could jam on the songs acoustically and try recording a track. Bring his behemoth music maker he did. But, instead of playing it by plucking it, the same way you might play an electric bass, he busted out a bow. An effing bow. What was ballsy rock 'n roll a week ago was now something soft and pretty, with a lovely string section underlying the whole f*cking thing. I didn't start tasting puke in my mouth until he insisted on adding to the acoustic tracks: a fiddle, strange piano, harmonizing vocals, and hand claps. Yes, hand claps. After he left, Tom asked me what I thought about recording 4 more songs just like it. I said that it would be like eating raw chicken just to see if you would catch salmonella.
Plus, since I install all the light bulbs in my house in at the same time, they tend to expire all at once, leaving me in relative darkness. Today I was so zoned out from painting said buttocks that I didn't even notice when it got to be dark in the room. If you are a painter, you know what a tragedy this is.
It causes one to make atrocious decisions regarding color and value that could easily be seen in daylight.When I finally realized I was working in a virtual bat-cave, I turned on some lights in the room and saw that while most of the rear end I rendered was toned, sculpted, and nearly approaching perfection, a portion of it simply looked bruised and a little concave (see visual aid on the right)
Tom and I are having our five year anniversary on March 29. While he already gave me my present (Vibram Five Finger Shoes), I'm at a loss for what to get him. Although I was simply ecstatic to receive my new pair of kicks almost two weeks before the anniversary, I realize now that the early exchange of gifts is egregiously unfair. Specifically, to me. I'm romantically inclined, but after receiving a pair strange looking lizard clodhoppers for my gift, painting a picture or making a chapbook of sappy poetry seems too saccharine. As a rule, I don't give paintings as gifts because the people that I love enough to do this for don't value decorative objects enough to actually take care of them. I've broken this rule with Tom, but after seeing the stacks of drawings I've made him gathering dust under unopened boxes of vendetta valentine CDs, I'm thinking of reinforcing it.
So, should I spend the same amount purchasing him an item of clothing that is equally attention getting as my new shoes? Perhaps a necklace made out of guitar picks? A kitchen appliance? Of course, some people insist that the best gift on an anniversary is a kinky one, but after five years with the same person, nothing is kinky. My mom says I'm too young to be too cynical, to which I say, "Is cynical a derogatory way of saying wise?" If it is, I'm wise beyond my years. I know I'll think of something good, that isn't what he suggested I buy him (a gift certificate to Target)--but it will take some serious soul searching over the next day or two. Also in breaking news, my band, the Art Stars broke up. Au revoir Art Stars. What a relief. First we told the rhythm guitarist and the drummer that they were no longer needed. Then, we tried out the idea of an acoustic version of our music. We told the bass player, David, that he should being his stand-up bass over so we could jam on the songs acoustically and try recording a track. Bring his behemoth music maker he did. But, instead of playing it by plucking it, the same way you might play an electric bass, he busted out a bow. An effing bow. What was ballsy rock 'n roll a week ago was now something soft and pretty, with a lovely string section underlying the whole f*cking thing. I didn't start tasting puke in my mouth until he insisted on adding to the acoustic tracks: a fiddle, strange piano, harmonizing vocals, and hand claps. Yes, hand claps. After he left, Tom asked me what I thought about recording 4 more songs just like it. I said that it would be like eating raw chicken just to see if you would catch salmonella.
