I’ve got some sketchbook drawings before I succumb to the weekend and make new art. If you’re following me on twitter then you will already know about my recent art baptism the other night. Anything in the gallery that you may find pleasant and want to purchase is now unavailable and I am debating creating a new gallery page for artwork that is created from this point on. (thoughts?) I was going through old sketchbooks because I want to throw out my old sketchbooks (I have a lot of them) and I need to really consolidate all of the neat things I collect. Antique jars, hello kitty stuffed animals, portfolios full of graphic designs for fancy corporations and also avant-garde paintings done with the delicacy and detail and nightmarish aesthetic could only dream of. Drawings made by me. I want to force myself to draw things that are happier. I’m hoping it’s going to inspire me to be a happier and less mean person. I don’t want to paint or draw broken people anymore. In an impassioned post recently I wrote so eloquently,
“someone on the bus this morning choked on an ice-cube and his dentures fell into his lap and I’ve been so sad and uncomfortable all day ever since. He was sitting next to me and he was so old and dejected and sad and his breath smelled like chemicals. I always have painted broken people, amputees, bruised and injured, because that’s always how I feel. Ten years later and I am still an amputee on the inside.” (11-10-14)
and I’ve made the first steps towards being happier and more pleasant. To growing my arms and legs back and being complete for once. I can grow limbs if I try hard enough. I know I can.