(an immature 12)
One post since 2014. This makes two.
I would say I feel like a failure for not keeping up with this or that, but that’s not entirely right. I’ve been keeping up with other things — taking care of myself and my surroundings. Simply, unwrecking my world.
I moved and that has improved my surroundings. The lull that I’ve entered is delicious. It’s much needed and will allow me to carry on the next time shit gets wrecked. Wouldn’t have it any other way, though. All good is just as bad as all bad, yeah? A different kind of bad, anyway. Like a Michael Jackson kind of bad.
While searching for new digs, one criterion was having a dedicated room for doing art. I’m still unpacking, but my brushes and paints are out. I found scraps of canvas that I cut a while back and have started a painting.
Confession: I have been notoriously careless when it comes to painting (or doing any kind of art). My needs (what I thought) were to simply get out whatever is in my head. I get the image out, but it’s a bastardized version of what I wanted to do. My impatience let the shoddiness slide just so I could move on to whatever was next. And if nothing was next, then I did nothing. Since coming to this shameful realization this year, I have kicked my impatience in the teeth and now it’s in a semi-conscious state and unable to speak.
This painting is taking much longer than normal. It’s not even a quarter of the way done. This is driving me mad, but I need it to drive me mad. It’s good for me! Plus, the more time I take on it, the more I’m spotting these horrendous mistakes that I otherwise wouldn’t have seen/cared about if I was rushing. Intention is good. Discipline and all that.
Now that I’ve embarrassed myself by sharing all that, let me share what I’ve done so far:
It Does Art 