My kombucha scoby got mold. Poor li’l guy.
Aw, man ???
Someone stole a part off my car in the time it took me to go pick up a chocolate birthday pie and 4 fedoretti from Dianda's (those details are important because the fedoretti will change your life). It was the most useless heist, ever. My sister and I had a good actual laugh about it. They took the piece that goes between the mirror and the outer shell of the whole side-view (side-rear-view?) mirror thingie thing contraption, which is only useful when it's still part of the mirror.
So.. I still have my fully functioning mirror and the housing, but the inner piece is gone. I’m sure some deep hippystrapolation would reveal a hidden message I’m just not getting right now. Oh, wait. Inner piece. INNER PEACE! MY INNER PEACE IS GONE! Or is it my inner “piece”. Like, my inner Colt .45? Being a hippie is so confusing, sometimes.
Saturday, April 9th, besides being the husband-type-unit's birthday, was the one year anniversary of this elf’s death, and we all continue to miss him. Thank you again and again, Ming.
To round everything off, I was told the most horrid racist joke I’ve ever heard (which may not be saying much, considering that 99.999 percent of my human interactions do not involve overt racists or racist jokes.)
While my brain was in suspended animation, I experienced a full body cringe unlike anything I’ve ever felt before – it was so disorienting. And, actually, very interesting. It was like discovering that just beyond whatever purple is in the rainbow of emotions, there’s a whole new color that smells like rotting flesh and feces and feels like your mom being tortured in front of you, but you can't see it because your mind is eating itself.
Also kind of like being invited by a very cheerful person to go burn a cross on someone’s lawn, for scary reasons – very, very strange, the whole thing. Including the fact that I keep being surprised, after 4 decades of living in it, at how sensitive my body is. I may write more about the experience at some point. Just. Don’t feel like it right now.
Behold! Another work in progress, gouache on paper, 12"x18":
And the newspaper is wet because a damp dog, damp from running about by the sea shore in dense, low cloud cover, was lying on that newspaper, making it wet. The end.
Actually, it’s not so weird that I’d be resisting creating anything. I have a lot of really good reasons! Here are a few:
- I have a LOT of ideas, and I don’t have a ton of free time. So, when I sit, there’s pressure to spew things out, but it’s like trying to get 5,000 bees out of a box through an inch-long hole while 5,000 other bees are trying to get in.
- For a lot of those ideas, I don’t have the skillz or the experience to execute them the way I see them in my head. I dare me to dare you to dare me to draw your portrait.
- A couple of people have asked to buy some of my paintings – which means I have a standard to live up to, now (in my head), and it means that now I’m figuring out how to get some stuff printed, and it’s a little overwhelming. Again, too many bees.
- More people – including some friends who are very talented artists – have begun following me on instagram. Dammit. A lot of them have their “thing” that they’re known for, and I’m pretty all over the place and brand new, so I’m shy to share. But it’s kind of ripping off my shame Band-Aid. Kinda like having someone open the door on me while I’m on the toilet. Everything’s all hanging out already, so I can’t really do much but just keep doing what I’m doing. Howdy!
- Most important reason: I am me. Which precludes me from having any real talent.
Anyway, last night, I finally forced myself to just get out the paints, sit in front of a blank page, and make some marks – just for a little bit.
Of course, the little bit turned into a long bit (whether this had anything to do with the fact that I had Russel Tyrone Jones AKA Ol’ Dirty Bastard AKA Big Baby Jesus in my head almost the entire time, I cannot know.), as each layer or color or shape asked for the next, and as each shape asked for its color and placement, and as each open space asked to be filled
And, it can’t be understated, as each next action came with a warning: you’re going to fuck it up. Stop. Turn back. DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES!
Plus: you’re doing it wrong, amateur! What’s that, a freaking Teletubby? You suck! Only assholes paint like this. So lame. LAME!
Throwing caution to the wind, I ignored all warnings of death and mild humiliation and and painted, anyway, and, lo, it was fun – and, more importantly, I think it got me out of my wet dogpaper funk. ... for now.
Interestingly, that piece definitely feels unfinished, whereas with many other drawings or paintings, I feel like I get to a certain point, and it can just be done whenever I say it's done. Or whenever IT says it's done.
Thumbcats in Spaaaaace! To go along with the other Thumbcat painting. This one is about 6"x9". The other one was 12"x18". I might just make a li’l series of them in various earth and non-earth environments…