Monday, January 16, 2012

sometimes I feel like I'm painting crap

Before I eddy down that trickle of despairing diatribe ~

Happy Birthday, Martin Luther King, Jr.

Better words found here and here. I'm not much of an activist, being somewhat selfish and self absorbed, but I am glad of the people who are. They do the work I wouldn't even think about.

Now. Where was I? Ah, yes. Sometimes I feel like I'm painting crap. I feel Georgia O'Keeffe scoffing at me from the wall. Picasso sniggering cruelly deep in the recesses of my mind. Sitting in the corner is Frida Kahlo ~ who drags a cigarette, indifferent and cool, while flipping through an old National Geographic, an open bottle of Tequila on the table . I'm not getting help from any one of them today. So I'm painting, my time punctuated by laundry. Punctuated by roast beef sandwiches. Punctuated by checking the e-mail incessantly. Punctuated by thoughts about the past. Punctuated by sadness, turning to anger. Punctuated by punctuation.

In short, it's just one of Those Days. The kind of day that hangs an Artist out to dry. I guess the best remedy for any of it is to simply paint. Even if it's crap. Today, painting needs to be a verb and not a noun.

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