Painting is usually my escape. I need it when I’m stuck on a shitty edit, or can’t find the right cords on my guitar. It was something I just picked up on a whim in high school.
You don’t always know where you’re going.
This damn painting defied everything. Instead of relaxing me like usual it drove me nuts. The original concept did NOT work at all. When you’re working with lines be careful. haha Putting them together can be dangerous and frustrating.
My geometrics are my favs. You measure them out, pencil some lines and run with it. Adjust as you go.
Or you accidentally paint a swastika and want to die. (True story-it’s terrible- My Jewish boyfriend will forever laugh at the time I accidentally painted a swastika)
I nearly decided to burn the painting in the process. Was ready to throw her in the trash. And then I decided she deserved better.
After throwing her, and hiding her under my bed, I came back. Reconfigured the design. Painted over a few spots and created an image that is puzzling.
This is similar to how my writing career got started. The greatest experiences of my life have always been the ones that found me. Opportunities knock before you’re ready (at least they usually do for me) and you either leap or hold back-Leaping is way more fun.
This painting is a turning point. I know I always say I’m not an artist, but clearly my paints beg to differ. They yell at me all the time. haha Art is a tricky business. No matter your medium, you HAVE to keep at it. If not, then it’s just a hobby.
I love trying out so many different things that it’s often difficult to decide what the fuck is a passing hobby and what is a form of expression I can’t live without. But I’ve been painting since I was 17. It’s been 16 years, this isn’t going to stop. It’s like the writing and the music. I will do them until I die, probably after too…if I’m lucky.