“I’m not an identity crisis”

“This was planned,” -Ms. Neko Case. Well if I’m planning it’s from the ground up. Which starts in my parents basement, mixed with a trip to the art store, and some fucking guts to bite my tongue and hold still over and over again to actually use my pencil and my head. Over and over, because what else is there? I run around but, no ones watching. I’m gonna hold still and find my brain again, if I need to run I’ll use my feet and lungs.

.

20131020-000108.jpg

Advertisements

Today, I am

20130929-223213.jpg

I’m worried, always worried. I worry about other people that aren’t me, so much that it makes me wonder if I’ll ever grow because of it. But I sort of all out refuse to stop, but try doing it a new way. I have recently pushed myself out into my own spotlight and am going through BIG change. But I as I’m going I’m trying to see that Big change doesn’t necessarily mean the opposite of your past, but more an adjustment, for me. I’ve always been in the middle and looking up the skirts of other peoples lives and problems, and that view is life. I can’t avoid the hairy legs, or pretend they don’t exist to live my life “better.” Not agreeing with someone isn’t the end, but it feels like it. I think it’s hard to move forward because I see that I’m going to have to start saying things that I need to say, which always felt like confrontation in the past, but now it seems obvious that it is just what adjusted humans do. It is hard, because not everyone feels like being adjusted everyday at every minute, and some never are on your level in any way. But if I want to live a little better, maybe I can do my part to communicate, give people my perspective of whatever moment, and cut through the real raw emotions that fly around us, sometimes without words, and sometimes with words to distract. It sounds like a nice way to cut up a cake, words to articulate the moment filled with everyone’s avoidance. A slice for all, and you can eat it too. It’s not a confrontation if it’s made from sugar and love, it’s a flippin word cake, and I think we’d all be better off using them to get out of our corners.

Anyway. That’s a picture of Clyde from one of our walks this week. Michigan is beautiful right now, and I feel lucky to have it’s starry skies over me. Im both profoundly happy and overwhelmed to be here, I feel like I’m fighting everyday to live and live with the honesty I need and have avoided for some time. It’s important to fight for that, I think it’s the most important of all. Cary Grant or Humphrey Bogart might agree, I think they’d say it in a movie to a young woman in their arms, “Don’t kid yourself, kid.”

Image

I found it!

I found it!

Remember all those posts about the dreaded flower? Well here it is, I thought I’d lost the only picture I took of the finished piece.

Image

shelly

P1000129

I have a studio, now I need a camera

I went out and found a studio, it’s something I should really be inside of right now, but when my alarm went off at seven, which really isn’t to bad, I quickly pressed all the buttons simultaneously on my phone before passing back out. My justification, naturally, was how interesting my dreams were.

I don’t know what the day brings, it’s a day off right before a hefty string of doubles that will require some will power if I’m to exit them feeling at all healthy and normal. I know I have to get some studying done for these teacher certification tests. I’m into word problems now with math, which means I’ve been crying a lot more lately… well sort of. I just wish it didn’t feel like my study guide questions were purposefully trying to make me feel stupid, and rubbing it’s smelly pages in my face.

I think I would kill for ray of light Madonna hair, I’ve often thought that, and also wondered how much of my soul I’d have to give the hairdresser to make my hair look naturally golden and red, and of course, windy.

Of course I’ve realized that this blog no longer represents much or any of the art I’m doing or interested in for that matter. I’m afraid If I did an inspiration page it would be full of textile designs I like.

Which just sent me on a design blog search. Pretty cool, maybe I should give screen printing another shot… I bet it would be awesome fun.

Waiting

The only thing I seem able to do lately when I get home from work is to put on some mellow Dylan, and lay down in my “office” which is really our closet turned into my little room. It’s best done with the light turned off so I can pretend the world doesn’t exist except for whatever song is on, and the nasty gold carpet beneath me.

It makes me think of a Wonder Years episode where Kevin is talking about his dad, and you know when he’s had a bad day if he ends the night by staring out into the stars with his telescope, while drinking scotch. I suppose we’re both dreaming about something, and can’t deal with something else. And Kevin, well, Kevin is just tryin to put pieces together to explain why his world is the way it is. If you’re lucky, childhood holds enough mystery to last you till adolescence. But I don’t really know.

I’ve lately just been trying to understand what makes the heart break, what really pulls at heartstrings. To me it’s thinking about what was and wasn’t, thinking about times when I felt I knew myself. I suppose if it’s a strong enough feeling I’ll find my way back to it. For sure I’ve started a painting of a mussel shell, it’s still the beginning, but it’s good to feel sure about putting down some paint, not giving a damn about the result other than I’m going to like looking at it, it’ll be a good damned thing to see that thickly painted shell opening up to me. That’s great.

I suppose a solution is to keep painting, buy a telescope, and take up drinking scotch.

I crossed the green mountain

Crap, that was Bob Dylan. I’ll think of something else to write about…

Went to Ballard for expensive brunch today. I filled up on Mimosas and am going to walk up the big hill to work in a bit. LAST DAY! for a week or so. Breaks are needed for everyone.

But I’ve got 8 minutes with Bob. And that counts.