Rain. Tent started leaking. Put things under the table for cover.. Moved some paintings inside. Ground was flooded when I got back. A lot of stuff is very likely damaged. Trying to figure out whether the appropriate respond is to kill myself or to just laugh it off.
Right now, all I can really manage is to smoke cigarettes in the rain, listening to The Credentials with a blank expression.
The first time I ever decided to make art for its own sake, the results were… mixed. It was more than a year ago and at no point has it grown on me…
Maybe that’s for the best though – that I dislike it so much. Maybe it’s good for me to have to accept that the one piece of art that I can’t ignore – that I can’t leave out of my story – is one of which I’m totally embarrassed.
It’s (very seriously) insane just how much something like acknowledging that this painting exists can fuck with my emotional well-being. Sitting here typing this, I don’t … – I don’t want to type it. I hate it. But I’m doing it anyway. As imperfect as all of this is – it’s a good exercise in humility. I’m not perfect, my website isn’t perfect, my stories and artwork are not all uniformly fascinating. Sometimes I’m just okay.
Okay’s not so bad, I guess.
If you’d like to buy this painting, I would love to get it out of my home. Hit me up. (And remember: it’s got historical value).
self-imposed deadline + bad time management = short, sub-par entry!
This is another one of my learning-to-draw-with-charcoal sketches from January. I’m not gonna try to spin a narrative out of it, but this little scrap of paper does have some significance to me.
The charcoal was a gift from my friend, Mary Beth – someone I never would have met (let alone had the opportunity to become friends with in any other context) – but who was one of the most influential forces in my life, at the point when that sort of thing mattered the most. I was just beginning to get ready to try to figure out what kind of a life I might want to have. Mary Beth was the first person to push me toward art as a “career.” Without her, I don’t think I’d have ever had the confidence to put myself out there as I have or to try to sell my art.
Despite the caption/title, this is an example of me trying; trying to draw things I hadn’t drawn before (a bird, a cup, an axe, a Disney cigarette). I’m pretty sure that Bukowski’s tombstone says, “Don’t Try.” Which – if I understand correctly – is in line with the whole Yoda “do or do not, there is no try” thing. I guess that’s sorta what I was saying here. I mean – sure – when I look at it, I don’t see much. It looks like failure. But it’s not, really; it’s a product of that time in my life. It’s not much so far as “art” goes, but it’s an artifact from an important period in my life, and that’s worth something to me.
Sometimes (when I’m losing my mind) I wanna do everything; I can’t sit still (until ALL PROBLEMS are completely resolved). In that frame of mind though, I’m usually only capable of making things worse. “Don’t try” isn’t a bad message to send myself at times like that. Sometimes, sitting still is all I really ought to be doing and I have to beat myself into realizing that attempting anything else is just gonna prolong my torture.
That’s it! Now I’m gonna get started putting together something decent for tomorrow.