I admit it. I barely ever make art anymore and even less frequently do I write..I miss it. The clicking of my fingers to the keyboard and the same 15 bands I’ve loved for ten years now because I’m actually old enough to have loved a band for ten years.
I like to live in this fantasy land and pretend art is my only love in this world and the driver of all of my decisions but at this point in my life at age 26, I’d be totally full of shit.
I care about having enough money to pay my bills and developing skills that are going to be growing in demand and surrounding myself with all these things that are so hard and exhausting that I cant even step outside and have a cup of tea with my creative side with a brush in hand.
Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s that I really don’t feel tormented or like I have something that hurts me and that’s what creates the inspiration for making art for me most of the time, after all.
Whatever this new year -2016 (not two-thousand sixteen, as my close friend Jake would have it) intends to bring to my life, I accept it open arms. I doubt I will paint more, with a budding career but I do hope to meet an support my art communities locally and internationally and hope to at least meet my idols in the space one day. For now, I am just happy to exist and to be able to write and engage with the word in all of the interesting ways the internet allows us to do so.
I am going to work hard, build my garden home here in Florida and hopefully have many more fulfilling experiences this year traveling and being in love.
Do you remember that mood you were in when you took that photo or posted that status update?
That’s the point of it all, I thought. To capture some fleeting memory of a specific way you felt. That’s the point of applications such as instagram and Facebook and twitter. That’s the reason why humans do anything. We are so important and everything we’ve ever felt should be documented and shared, what other point could there be to existing in the first place?
I remember all of these little moods. These little things I captured, and never put anywhere. They are private and matter only to me- not to anyone else.
As many other artists, scientists, authors and people have loved their cats before me. This is my cat. I haven’t had her very long, just a few short months but I really like her. Her name is Duchess, and she was adopted at 8 years old. She doesn’t like to sit my on lap, but she’s always nearby. She’s got white fur and big green eyes and she doesn’t like other animals at all, just me. She likes neck scritches and meows like an old woman that spent many years smoking cigarettes. She has a sensitive stomach and dislikes dogs. I picked her because she rubbed her head against the phone when I started playing the Velvet Underground in the room she was in when I was at the spca. Little did I know she just rubs her head on everything 🙂
I am fairly certain the pressure of making a really high quality first post for the new year made me put it off for way longer than I should have. 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 over two months. Shame on me! I’ve done a few things since then though, very little having anything to do with art at all. I have grown a lot as a person, a professional, a graphic designer and a friend. I’m focusing a lot of growing my knowledge but I am still going to maintain my presence as camicamirobot. I have been using a lot of glitter lately, manifesting myself artistically with just a little bit more chaos.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.