and i wonder, i do

Trying like a nursery rhyme sung by a soprano, a stick man by an old master. mixturing excellence with incompetence, with the good marks. The good points, exploited.

two sides

I made a painting a while back, around about the time of 'Pleasure Hands', which is the last female portrait i did (a woman in green). I don't think it's very good, but technically i suppose it shows a sort of skillfulness in depicting a specific scene. A house, some trees. An insignificant scene, bestowed with colour and fit in to a structured composition. I tried anyway.

I do quite like it. The colours are nice, the application of paint works for me. But that's all it seems to be about. It's kind of banal, possibly hinting at something, i mean if you focus on something long enough to paint it it's ultimately going to be suspected that it 'means' something. Even if it really doesn't.

Today i made my second Feather painting. I like it very much, though the picture i took of it does not do it justice, it does not reveal the many different shifts of colour, the two different yellows in the background, the much worked into feather itself. It works, it's an ordinary, unimportant feather, also bestowed with some sort of meaning, epicness, feeling, spirituality, while hopefully retaining that humble origin. The yellow, i enjoy, i enjoy painting patterns that are seemingly abstract, this was based on the pattern of stitching on the canvas, the different yellows were responses to the dappled light of the sun filtered through some leaves playing over the whole scene. Though you'd never know it to look at it. But hopefully there is enough there to see, without prompts from me.

What do i want?

I must know what i want because i'm quick to decide on what i don't want. There is a guide, even if i don't know what it is.

I want a place of my own.

I want the freedom to travel.

I want the money to live comfortably, and free from money oriented worries.

I want good friendships.

I want a loving, kind and humour-filled relationship.

I want to be able to work in art, film, animation... and be appreciated for that work.

hmmm.. for all my pretentious posing, and faux teen angst, my desires are remarkably ordinary and simple.

But then paint applied to a canvas is quite a simple act isn't it, while at the same time being a very difficult task, to do it well anyway.

Game theory

It's tiring weaving a pattern of nothingness.

Punctuating that nothingness with a certain peculiar language.

Which attempts to inspire in you, your own stories.

Yet they are based within me, within my past, within something which is both completely separate from you, in time, space and culture.

And yet which is ultimately a slice of life which we all have experienced, and contained in our memory.

Sweet Little Reminder

of how, as it's been so long, you forget how good things can be. The reminder is sweeter still when been forgotten for a long time. When you're in forced contentment with less than ideal circumstances. It only takes a word, a sentence from a stranger or a look or a song, and things conspire to jog your memory. Kinda kick starts everything, which is a blessing if it's your emotions, a pain in the arse if it's your imagination.