30 Jul 2010 | 1 comment »
I just found out that Brennen only likes 10% of my paintings. If that. And he doesn’t like any of my recent work.
I’m trying really hard to be disturbed by this information, but I’m not.
I love ‘Prayer’, I love ‘Faith’, I love ‘Mascara’. I’m still hesitating on giving ‘Mascara’ a coloured background, but it’s already sold so the decision is out.
In fact, I love all of my latest pieces. And I like the series that is in my head, portraits growing and blooming, one after the other, waiting in line until I can get to them.
Brennen, most likely, will like one…if I paint 10 of them.
When did I stop getting concerned about his criticism?
And, on that note, when did I stop getting concerned about the world?
Because just between you and me, I’m thinking of cancelling commissions and just painting what I want to paint, when I want to paint it, without care or respect for the input of others.
Does this matter?
I’m beginning to believe that true art doesn’t need an audience, it just needs to be set free.
28 Jul 2010 | 2 comments »
My husband sends me sheets of rain.
I love it.
We don’t fall
We smash down gracefully with blood on our teeth
Inverted gravity
We spring, so loudly, with gloves on our hands
Didn’t you know
I was a bobbing clown
A punching bag
A back-atcha-jack.
We don’t fall.
We twist with passion and run with fear
Feet touching nothing
As we hang in the air.
There.
Didn’t we say it would all be alright?
Twisting and turning and gnawing and churning
We don’t ask for help
We scream silently through mouths that are painted on
A bobbing clown
A back-atcha-jack
Didn’t we say it would all be alright?
A shove in the back and a tripping of feet
As we dance the silence away.
27 Jul 2010 | no comments »
Is it a sign of age when you stop looking toward the world for inspiration? I was going to write about taking the scruffy old thing by the neck and shaking it until beauty fell out, and then I sighed - in a somewhat old manly manner - and thought I should just dig deeper into my own little universe. Is this correct or defeatist? And does it matter? And is it too young, at any rate, to talk about guts and raw and blood and teeth? I tell you, sometimes I feel like I should at least fuck an insane female poet, just to hear the roaring of the trains.
24 Jul 2010 | no comments »
I spent today reorganising the house. I shuffled furniture all over the show and we now have a new playroom/dining room and a new lounge.
I’ve decided not to work on art until Monday. I’ll probably still have concepts swarming around my head, and I will mull them over, but I’ll leave any drawing or painting until next week.
I just want to spend this weekend making the house lovely, smooshing on my boys and focusing on my fitness.
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