Photo by Kait Donaldson. March 1, 2014 at Rain Dogs in Jacksonville, FL.
This photo was taken on March 1st, a few hours after starting this piece (which I finished yesterday afternoon). If you follow me on Facebook, you may have seen a photo that included the finished piece, up on the wall at last night’s Local Motives Pop-Up art show, but I’ll be posting a “real,” detailed image of the piece (as well as its story) in a regular update soon. I’m really excited to share it with everyone; the way it came together, it’s definitely one of my more recent favorites.
Thanks to Kait / KD Photography for the photo! It almost has me convinced that I might look sort of handsome sometimes! That’s no simple feat.
On another note, everything has really been moving in a forward direction lately – emotionally and artistically, as well as “career-wise.” I’ve absolutely still got my little ups and downs but this is the most love and fulfillment that I’ve ever experienced. And I think I’m doing a lot of good for others. I’m really grateful for everything, especially since I know that I’ve been working hard for it. I’m giving myself entirely to life and I’m getting back all I could have asked for. Thank you.
Being “homeless” is SO AWFUL. Painting next to sparkling fucking water instead of the refrigerator. Journaling in a beautiful park instead of on my fucking couch. And every time I wanna take a shower, I have to break out of my bubble of self, go to a friend and be reminded of the fact that people care about me and enjoy my presence.
In early January, I went to a reception/get-to-know-each-other kinda thing for the artists participating in Wunderground’s quarterly “Look! Listen! Buy!” event. At one point, I was telling another artist about my tendency to isolate – staying home and spending all of my time painting and writing. “Do you get social anxiety?” she asked. For whatever reason, I wasn’t totally honest. I told her that I didn’t. Which – OBVIOUSLY – is slightly less than the truth. I think it’s because I didn’t feel anxious in that moment. Either way, before long, I was proving the falsity of my claim. I tried to keep myself moderately engaged in and attentive to the conversations around me but I was primarily focused on scratching out some artwork in the tiny notepad I kept in my backpack. Eventually, I put it away and got involved in the slightly more socially appropriate activity of doing the exact same thing, only with the pretext of “entertaining a child.”
Seven days later, I was at “Look! Listen! Buy!,” sitting at my table, not enjoying myself. The music was too loud to really talk to anyone and – having just faced the consequences of some bad weather and an outdoor set-up – I wasn’t in the best mood. Things didn’t seem to be going especially well and I found myself back at work on the drawing I had started the night of the reception. I didn’t like the band that was playing. I had my headphones in. This was antisocial as fuck and I didn’t care. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” I thought. “All I want is to go back home and eat my leftover pizza. More than anything. SO BADLY.” (Not super-poetic but – when I’m falling apart emotionally – it’s not unusual for me to look to pizza to make everything okay again).
Which isn’t to say that I’m not grateful for the opportunity or that I don’t love the fuck out of Wunderground (because I really fucking do). I’m so happy to be a part of that group (though that doesn’t really have anything to do with Wunderground as much as it does the people behind it). Which kinda goes to show that (1) I don’t know shit about shit, (2) I’m a crybaby, and (3) everything works out exactly as it should / everything’s got a silver lining. I don’t make “friends” outside of punk rock (or treatment) – or so I thought. And I definitely didn’t think I’d make friends in Jacksonville. I’m not sure why that is… I get along with just about everyone I meet. I like just about everyone that I meet. But I just don’t usually feel connected to anyone. I was thinking about it recently though and (especially) last night. I’m kinda, sorta actually a part of a little crew of friends / artists here now. They like me and I like them. They invite me to do stuff with them. That feels nice. It makes me feel good. I’m grateful for it (and for them).
I was about to make a silly update about buying a half gallon of ice cream and having my work cut out for me since I – you know – LIVE IN A MINIVAN and don’t own a freezer BUT – how ’bout this instead…
This fermented-foods kid wanted one of my twenty dollar prints and offered to give me ten dollars and a bottle of homebrewed Kombucha instead of the full twenty. So, for those unfamiliar, Kombucha is a vinegary, fizzy health drink. Which means that it’s under pressure and SHOULD THE GLASS BOTTLE EXPLODE SUDDENLY, your life will reek of vinegar. Especially if it explodes all over your clothes, your bed, your carpet, and your fucking inventory of art prints.
