I know I’m supposed to be writing. I promise, I think about it every day. But I kill the words before they even come out. I’m so critical of myself, and I don’t know how to turn it off. Even now I’m tempted to hit the delete key and give up. I’m just…scrambling my fucking brain, trying to come up with a story, a memoir, a poem, an anything. Just like my paintings haven’t been turning out, neither is this… I don’t know if it’s that all my energy and effort is at school, and there’s nothing left for creativity? Maybe? I just hope it comes back, in some fashion. I haven’t been in any shows either, so it’s really like I have no creative outlet right now and I’m going mad.
Alright, that’s enough from me.
Is it something I lack? Something I want back? I’m rolling in poison, not feeling the joys in life. Only strife. Struggling to be a good wife, but it’s all gone south, twisted in my mouth, and aching! Ever aching. I’m always fucking shaking while they go on dancing, further enhancing this hate, this gash, the falling ash from a burning heart.
It’s time to start moving on, but ever strong is this jealous limb within my mind.
Sometimes, all I’m capable of is weird art. It begins with a concept that’s more of a feeling than anything else. Then I attach color and shapes to that, and then I try to put it all on the canvas. I would tell you that I’m usually between 30-60% successful. I’ve never had a piece of art turn out exactly how I pictured. Sometimes I like it anyway, and sometimes I am seconds away from painting over it. Or both.
Right now it’s both.
So I tried to break myself out of the creative prison of my last failed painting, and ended up with something weird and ugly. In letting out my feelings onto canvas, I suppose that was a success. But it’s nothing pleasant that I would hang or ask anyone to buy. I paper mached the canvas in some misguided effort to create texture, and then started to paint a bird caught in a dreamcatcher before the painting suddenly decided it wanted to be an abstract. I tried to follow the instinct and ended up wrist deep in this:
It actually wouldn’t be so weird if not for the paper mache…?
No. It’d still be weird.
Afterward I made Rolo Chocolate Chip Blondies — the obvious choice for an evening of pouting. (After an impromptu run to the store in our pajamas — thank you, baby! <3)
It’s done, the pastel dust has settled…and I lost. I learned a lot. Like heavy black lines are NOT always a good idea. A light color will never cover a dark color. Bigger is not better.
Trust your instincts.
The truth is this painting died moments after I sketched it out and outlined it in sharpie. That’s when the itch to draw had been scratched and I remember thinking that the design was too weak to go on. But I spent too much money on the canvases and had no other inspiration calling, and so I plowed on, unhappily, until tonight when at sometime before 8pm I called it.
I’m frustrated still. I hit when I should have stayed and I busted, but can you blame me if I was only at a 16 with this painting?
Does that make sense to anyone else but me?
I’m not posting a picture because in a rage I shoved the pieces out of sight and I’m not ready to look at them again.