More
Contact
Submit
Premium
I've been avoiding painting like the plague for the last two days. I sit behind my canvas and that old familiar feeling of self doubt rears it's ugly head and all motivation disappears.
The good thing is that I know myself well enough to guess that the cause of these deceptive emotions are almost purely physiological. Although every fibre in my being is telling me to ditch the paintings, the boyfriend, the dog, the family...and run off to the French Guyana, or Thailand, or Ecuador, I've learned that this behavior is actually counter productive.
While you might acquire some good stories and a few blood parasites, eventually you run out of money, get homesick, need hospitalization and you have to come running back with your tail between your legs to a home-cooked meal of crow and humble pie.
Also, I can logically deduce from events that have taken place over the weekend that a normal, sane, well adjusted person would be feeling happy if they were in my shoes. Not jumping for joy mind you, but content.
First, I bought a car for $1100, and it is the most hideous moving object that I have seen in a coon's age. It is a 1993 Mazda 323 Hatchback that is mostly white. When I went to go pick up the car, I touched the body near the back bumper and pulled my hand away to see that it was smeared with tacky white paint.
The guy who called himself Tang said that he was just "touching it up" before I arrived. This is hilarious, because I'm pretty sure that he made it look only worse. It reminds me of a car that used to park outside my old apartment in downtown Santa Ana, except that car had Dia De Los Muertos tissue paper skulls decorating the interior and on the outside, someone had spray painted in letters a foot high, "Everything is horrible."
I asked Tang if the car had been in any accidents because the had obviously tried to cover up some dents with some kind of body putty, but he vehemently denied it. While it's possible that the car hadn't had any head on collisions, it had at least a few impromtu meetings with light poles and dumpsters. Even though I knew that Tang was a liar, I bought the car. Before I drove off with my new prized possession, Tang inspected the car one more time to make sure that he hadn't left any "bars of gold" behind. As I drove away, I opened the ash tray and I found that he had overlooked one, tiny thing. A numbered list scrawled on a long, thin strip of paper in neat cursive hand writing. One thing I forgot to mention is that the car didn't belong to Tang, but to his wife. So, when I found the list, I naturally assumed that it was she who penned it. Although the list did not have a title, I think it could have easily been headed, "Things About Tang that Piss Me Off" This is what it said, verbatim:
1. Lying (making up stories)
2. Swearing
3. Using Force (when I say "no", i mean "no"!!!)
4. Be responsible!
5. Be respectful
6. No dictator!
7. Don't embarass me in front of other people!
8. Be kinder
9. No yelling
Alright, maybe this reveals more about my character than I'd like it to, but I love this little list. It is so small, and so frail. It looks like it was written in the margin of some unimportant scrap of paper and then torn out. The hand writing is controlled and meticulous. I'd like to think it was written in a moment of passion, but the passion is tempered and the tiny list loaded down with pain and frustration. It is so sincere, and not because of the way she states her complaints in two and three word pleas, but because it is still in her car, folded into a tiny, neat square and sitting in the unused ash tray. She never gave it to him. For the narrative that I've created, this is in inexpressibly sad.
Then, again, I might just be PMSing, in which case everything is inexpressibly sad.
Also, I finished painting number 19, which I'm quite happy with. Here it is:
I also made 9 new canvas frames.
Oh, and I'm going to China for sure! Booked my flight!
So, it's not like I've been totally lazy. Still, I'm going to be focused like a freaking laser beam this week!There are lot of opportunities to have a LOT of fun, and I now have a fuel efficient car to tote myself and Tom around in, but if I want to *not* feel like a complete piece of shit, I have to balance the events I have scheduled with hard, hard work.
This week, I have an art show on Thursday and possibly might be attending the Revolver Golden God awards the same night. Its basically like a hard rock, heavy metal awards show, and will be attended by Ozzie Osbourne, Slash, and about a million other famous rockers. I'm a pseudo writer for this magazine that has invited me to cover it. The Goodfoot (Funk and Soul Night at Que Sera) in Long beach is on Friday, which I have always loved going to. Somehow I need to build 3 frames for Thursday night, run fifty miles between now and Friday, and get paintings 20, 21, and 22 done.
While I've been doubting my artistic direction and abilities lately, I'm don't really feel like discussing tonight will be productive, since my mental state is like someone who has been drugged with sad pills. The effects will wear off, no doubt, and I'll be confident again in no time at all.
If you doubt that I'll be able to finish 100 paintings this year, I'd like to invite you over next January to my house for a dinner of humble pie, assuming that you can remove your foot from your mouth.
Wish me luck! I promise to blog every night this week!
The good thing is that I know myself well enough to guess that the cause of these deceptive emotions are almost purely physiological. Although every fibre in my being is telling me to ditch the paintings, the boyfriend, the dog, the family...and run off to the French Guyana, or Thailand, or Ecuador, I've learned that this behavior is actually counter productive.
While you might acquire some good stories and a few blood parasites, eventually you run out of money, get homesick, need hospitalization and you have to come running back with your tail between your legs to a home-cooked meal of crow and humble pie. Also, I can logically deduce from events that have taken place over the weekend that a normal, sane, well adjusted person would be feeling happy if they were in my shoes. Not jumping for joy mind you, but content.
First, I bought a car for $1100, and it is the most hideous moving object that I have seen in a coon's age. It is a 1993 Mazda 323 Hatchback that is mostly white. When I went to go pick up the car, I touched the body near the back bumper and pulled my hand away to see that it was smeared with tacky white paint.
The guy who called himself Tang said that he was just "touching it up" before I arrived. This is hilarious, because I'm pretty sure that he made it look only worse. It reminds me of a car that used to park outside my old apartment in downtown Santa Ana, except that car had Dia De Los Muertos tissue paper skulls decorating the interior and on the outside, someone had spray painted in letters a foot high, "Everything is horrible."
I asked Tang if the car had been in any accidents because the had obviously tried to cover up some dents with some kind of body putty, but he vehemently denied it. While it's possible that the car hadn't had any head on collisions, it had at least a few impromtu meetings with light poles and dumpsters. Even though I knew that Tang was a liar, I bought the car. Before I drove off with my new prized possession, Tang inspected the car one more time to make sure that he hadn't left any "bars of gold" behind. As I drove away, I opened the ash tray and I found that he had overlooked one, tiny thing. A numbered list scrawled on a long, thin strip of paper in neat cursive hand writing. One thing I forgot to mention is that the car didn't belong to Tang, but to his wife. So, when I found the list, I naturally assumed that it was she who penned it. Although the list did not have a title, I think it could have easily been headed, "Things About Tang that Piss Me Off" This is what it said, verbatim:
1. Lying (making up stories)
2. Swearing
3. Using Force (when I say "no", i mean "no"!!!)
4. Be responsible!
5. Be respectful
6. No dictator!
7. Don't embarass me in front of other people!
8. Be kinder
9. No yelling
Alright, maybe this reveals more about my character than I'd like it to, but I love this little list. It is so small, and so frail. It looks like it was written in the margin of some unimportant scrap of paper and then torn out. The hand writing is controlled and meticulous. I'd like to think it was written in a moment of passion, but the passion is tempered and the tiny list loaded down with pain and frustration. It is so sincere, and not because of the way she states her complaints in two and three word pleas, but because it is still in her car, folded into a tiny, neat square and sitting in the unused ash tray. She never gave it to him. For the narrative that I've created, this is in inexpressibly sad.
Then, again, I might just be PMSing, in which case everything is inexpressibly sad.
Also, I finished painting number 19, which I'm quite happy with. Here it is:
I also made 9 new canvas frames.
Oh, and I'm going to China for sure! Booked my flight!
So, it's not like I've been totally lazy. Still, I'm going to be focused like a freaking laser beam this week!There are lot of opportunities to have a LOT of fun, and I now have a fuel efficient car to tote myself and Tom around in, but if I want to *not* feel like a complete piece of shit, I have to balance the events I have scheduled with hard, hard work.
This week, I have an art show on Thursday and possibly might be attending the Revolver Golden God awards the same night. Its basically like a hard rock, heavy metal awards show, and will be attended by Ozzie Osbourne, Slash, and about a million other famous rockers. I'm a pseudo writer for this magazine that has invited me to cover it. The Goodfoot (Funk and Soul Night at Que Sera) in Long beach is on Friday, which I have always loved going to. Somehow I need to build 3 frames for Thursday night, run fifty miles between now and Friday, and get paintings 20, 21, and 22 done.
While I've been doubting my artistic direction and abilities lately, I'm don't really feel like discussing tonight will be productive, since my mental state is like someone who has been drugged with sad pills. The effects will wear off, no doubt, and I'll be confident again in no time at all.
If you doubt that I'll be able to finish 100 paintings this year, I'd like to invite you over next January to my house for a dinner of humble pie, assuming that you can remove your foot from your mouth.
Wish me luck! I promise to blog every night this week!
