and after all those brush strokes and finger dabs, I still don’t care for it. It’s Saturday. I started my new job one month ago this past week. It’s been an interesting ride so far, new jobs get more interesting with age. I am slowly getting to know a group of people that I would hope to be with for years, growing and learning professionally. With them around, in an office this time.
So during the weekends, I’m still laying more and more paint into these giant canvases. I sent my husband to get canvases for me a few weekends ago and he brings back 3 massive 5 ft 6in”. They were of course too big to fit in our Mini Cooper so I am amazed he was able to find a way to bring them home and surprise me with them. These ones, I think, must be perfect.
Nothing about it is correct, they look weird and uncomfortable as usual.
I’m having my evening coffee early today. It’s only 2:00pm on a Saturday. My husband is at his moms using her refurnishing tools to build 2 cigar box guitars. I am painting with our son and listening to my Baby Huey playlist. Have a wonderful time. 🙂
That’s what he said to me, the man with thin hair and the long black coat. I joked in my head that he must be going to the matrix that day. He turned back to me and said “It’s pen or perish.” and I asked what, completely taken aback by his comment. He repeated to me, “It’s pen or perish. Never forget that.” and just kept walking in the opposite direction.
I cannot stop thinking about it, and granted its only been two hours I decided I don’t want to forget about it (maybe it’s important?) so I’ll write it down. After I walked in my direction another half a block, I was stopped by an older traveling woman with a backpack asking if I’d be willing to purchase some legal marijuana at a shop in downtown Eugene, OR. I obliged and kept thinking in my head about what the matrix man said to me.
It’s pen or perish. Is he telling me I need to keep drawing? How did he know what he said would be relevant to me?
That’s just today. This month is trying me. I’m 28. Officially. I’m sitting in my room listening to The Apples. So much for joining the famous 27 club. Here I am. I feel like there’s a lot of pressure on modern day women to get married off and procreate by now but I don’t really feel it, I just feel the ghost of a press into my mind’s flesh that should but isn’t there. People around me are flirting with me everywhere and I decided I don’t understand how to handle it despite how much biological sense it makes. It’s annoying and I wish it would stop and every part of me feels rude and problematic for feeling that way about it but the intensity has never been like this before. The pheromones I am emitting are telling a story my mouth and mind never will.
I feel confused about my place in the world and I miss making art more than anything. I find myself often driving long hours just to stop at a coastal town for a coffee and turn around headed back home. As I often do. Is this what life is supposed to feel like, you are cheating on your soul just to survive? Am I just doing this all wrong?
I managed to keep some artwork happening in the last few months since I’ve arrived in Oregon. The new scenery is helping pull something from my guts. Scribbles. Paint. Making a mess. I hope I can wake up and do this every day, one day. If I’m not just going to drop dead at an early age I might as well start living for me instead of just living to survive and benefit someone else. I keep getting tired every day and telling myself excuses and being average and its making my bones shrivel up and my eyes feel dry and my throat feel like a leather wallet. I want to be a lush forest.
Are you ready for the singularity? Do you have enough food stored away in a temperature contained enclosure?
It’s 27 minutes until clock in time and my black coffee gets colder by the minute. By every bassline strum by the velvet underground I am preparing for 8 hours of troubleshooting, typing, comparing data and answering questions.
None of my images have synced up into my google cloud since January. I don’t have anything I could update you with, there’s too many repercussions included in admitting the truth. I had fun once but it wasn’t legal so I couldn’t even tell you about it if I wanted to.
I am driving to Colorado soon, just me and my stuff and my car. Make a few stops along the way, find some humans to smile with, and see my big blues guitar strumming bad joke telling retired career criminal daddy with those blue eyes.
Underwater photographs taken from the Gulf of Mexico with a friend. Sometimes you just need to get out in the wild, splash around and have a laugh. This weekend was that sometimes. I took my waterproof camera with me and took some interesting half underwater photos.
It was such a beautiful day in the Gulf of Mexico.
Rachel Cooper is a hairstylist from Pasco county, Florida. To book her services, visit her website!
Photos Taken in June 2015.
I am certain the pressure of making a high quality first post for the new year made me put it off for way longer than I should have. Sorry about that!
That, coupled with a phase of mounting depression (that has since eased it’s way out of my life- goodbye December!) equates to my not having written in >2 months. Shame on me!
My focus is on increasing my knowledge and minimizing pressure. I am still going to maintain my presence as camicamirobot.net. I have been using a lot of glitter lately, manifesting myself artistically with just a little bit more chaos.
Every day I am falling in love with creatures. These are all a little bit old and still not the entire update of work as of late and I am still trying to decide if I want to include any small insensitive comics and miscellaneous content on here or if I want to stop being so segregated with my personal art marketing or not and blah blah
I have so much on my mind lately. Praise be you. I love listening to Common People but my coffee is cold and it this room is cold and I have no clean underwear, so goodnight.
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.
that I’ll be playing with for the rest of my life
“This has been so many things, though.”, I explained to my friend as he came by and conveniently took away some paintings of mine that have been giving me a weird glare and need to leave where I sleep at night. I’ve surrendered. I locked myself out of my house accidentally again, for the second time since my roommates left for California and am so glad he was there to let me back in and take my art and swiftly leave me in the comfort of my vanilla tea and boondocks reruns on netflix. I hardly ever watch tv anymore. I was explaining the process on this painting, but I didn’t get as in depth as I could have. This is a really big canvas compared to most of my work. The canvas itself was a birthday gift from a tall, handsome man with anger issues and an interesting last name. He’s got entitlement problems just like every other guy I decide I don’t want to be with. Originally, it was a woman, naked, bent over, hardly visible/audible and tossed in the rain. I painted her over and over and over again, deciding it best fit to just never let her be complete in that way I usually do not let things finish. My art and emotions dance with each other pretty regularly so it was an easy choice to make. I decided would paint and keep painting forever, taking photos along the way of every iteration of a painting that it exists in. So far she has erupted into a forest of color and boredom and mythology. Who knows where next my imagination decides to travel to but you trust me it will end up here along with the layers and layers of everything I have ever felt.