This is our Artistic Process. I love this girl.
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.
It’s just been
a strange year, this year.
I did my photoshoot with David Hilton on Saturday. I hope to see him post them all up in the next two weeks! I’ve never actually done modeling with someone that I was not initially a friend of and so I was completely out of my element. It went a good bit better than my DJ stint last week end but either way I am doing my heart a world of good the last few weeks and I look forward to things getting better. These are some of my favorite photos of the last couple of months. Things.
I brewed such a big pot of coffee only to find out that there is no milk or creamer but that seems to be the way of the world, isn’t it?
I’m here again at my home away from home and I was instinctively drawn to my keyboard and my blog and I just thought to myself, “silly girl, you don’t even have a home.” Nowhere feels welcome. No one isn’t bothered by me, and I hate that about myself that I am so naturally contradictory to everyone I love and care about. My love of stains and mess and disarray, my inherent shyness and compulsion to stay out of everyone’s way makes them inevitably feel like I am being passive aggressive and that is so far from the actual truth that I want to cry. I just want my own space to exist in and stare at puddles of paint of the floor and not worry about anything until I absolutely have to and get out of everyone I love’s way.
Since we last spoke, I was still an intern and I am proud to say that I flew my way on to the payroll with my company and I am excited about learning new things every day and helping this start-up become more efficient, streamlined, organized, and good in every respect. I am constantly thinking about ways to improve things, and I am learning things in a perpetual motion. I am so inspired by my roommate but I am terribly afraid of how much she dislikes who I am so I am in the process of trying to save enough money to get out of her house and away from under her skin.
So many nights pass before I feel overwhelmed enough to write, and this is very therapeutic for me. I have broken hearts, I have fallen in and out of love more times than I care to admit. I have picked so many flowers, I have gone on many walks, held many hands and kissed many cheeks. Hundreds of flocks of birds swarming in the sky together. Hundreds of cups of piping hot coffee. So, so, so very many bowls of ramen noodles for lunch and public bus rides back to my friends house where I sleep on a foam mattress on the floor and feel bad about being there. So many nights I graze my hips with my razor blade and wish had more and even more than that, nights where I am so impressed with myself for not having drug addictions or children or collapsed veins from the life I feel like I just barely escaped. We’re all just hurting and channeling our pain in the interesting and infinite possibilities of ways to channel pain. I am grateful right now. I am grateful for the black coffee I am drinking, for the vinyl copy of my favorite pixies album that my friend bought for me, grateful for the place I’ve been living for the last few months and I am grateful for my job. I will never stop striving to be better. I will never stop wondering, how do I paint the sea foam?
Laptop on this dirty table, glowing back at me at 4:54am sitting on layers of pot and cigarette ash, acrylic paint, dirt, dead leaf, littered in soda cans and coffee cups and paper towels and art experiments and paintbrushes and buttons and razor blades and rolling papers. I don’t know why the fuck I just woke up, and I fell asleep on the couch with my boyfriend watching anime. Humoring my keyboard for lack of anything better to do waiting for the incense triangle I lit to waft away into the ceiling and eisley is done singing pretty songs to me. I might be waiting for the sun to rise so I can go for a walk with my nose feeling unattached and my eyes like planets in my face. I might be waiting for all sorts of things.
I got a new dress today and got told that I’m an asshole by my generally cranky and depressed but good-hearted best friend and I couldn’t even feel bad about it. Going with the flow is important to me, I guess. At least we both had a good experience talking to the fish that rubbed against our wet legs at the beach earlier. The fish are always talking to everyone and have the most relevant messages. “Keep moving forward, like the perpetual waves of the sea”. I’m trying and I want everyone else to try, too. I might be impatient.
I cried the other day because I am negative so much money in my bank and I am still just a lowly design intern, working for free and I would be essentially homeless if I didn’t have such extremely good friends that are willing to help me and have the faith that I never had in myself to do good things. The very next day, I was told there is an intention of offering me a position with my start-up and I feel blessed that every time I feel like I am drowning in debt and shit and being a poor example of a self driven individual that I want to be, life tells me to keep going. Sometimes it is fish when I am feeling angry at people for being stubborn, maybe its flocks of birds when I feel like dying, sometimes its a mood changing itself for no apparent reason whatsoever, but for whatever it is- thank you.
I pretend its like my own miniature office, complete with a toilet and a pile of clothes on the floor and various colors of lipstick in disarray with my two toothbrushes and vitamin supplements and incandescent lighting. There is also a publix reusable grocery bag on the floor, but it lacks a bathroom specific purpose and I cant reason why it would be in here. Cold applesauce is stirring in my stomach right now, or maybe that’s the feeling I know I deliberately broke a heart and there’s nothing I can do to stop him from hating me. I need a hug. My feet tire from walking 8 miles to and from work every other day. I cant even call it work because I am just an intern and no one knows what lengths I go to get there to sit in that cold office and design graphics and strategize social media accounts for free.
Yesterday, at 7:30 am I left the door with my chromebook, charger, some water and a few other personal items in my bag and started walking. It was pretty out, one of those mid September in Florida days where the clouds covered the beating sun and the birds were traveling with the wind. I walked and walked and walked, right through this suburban area that I live. Passed old houses that have been around for decades and look dilapidated but still so full of life. As I traveled, the houses became less cared for, the houses turned into buildings. Auto garages, antique shops, psychics and Cuban restaurants, a barbecue place that was smoking ribs and making my belly grumble. I passed a daycare center, a thrift store, a building littered with presumably homeless people waiting for free food and several massive churches. I walk through the societal hierarchy, leaving from suburbia, walking through the ghettos, and arriving in the bustling downtown Tampa where I am greeted by beggars, people sleeping in small flower beds, and people in business casual clothing unaware of their surroundings entirely. The most memorable part of yesterday morning was watching the ground as I walk, with the pixies serenading me through my ipod, and seeing a flock of tiny camouflage birds emerging from a bed of leaves.
A flock of tiny camouflage birds emerging from a bed of leaves.
Just think about how beautiful that was. It made me cry. This is my life, three days a week. Eight miles. Working for free, exhausting my little feet, and crying about birds.
but I still feel really bad about it.
My roommates just left and I dont know where they are but I am here swallowing my decisions over and over again every time I take a sip of tea. I’m listening to La Maison de Mon Reve again because it’s still one of my favorite albums and I am playing By your side mostly because it makes me think of someone in particular. My stomach is in knots. I have so many tabs open as per standard procedure, sitting here, dual wielding laptops trying to find a job and smelling bananas and chocolate and mint tea on my desk. Its cold in here. I am thinking about how much I want things to happen so badly and how bad I am at making things happen. “I just want to be your housewife.”
If I don’t make it in art I will live with myself knowing I threw away something truly beautiful and that scares me. I wish I had my mouse so I felt comfortable enough to do illustrations again. I have so much inspiration lately from the network of people I have been meeting. I am setting up accounts but doing the business side of things is so much less fun than the experiences I have that make me create in the first place. I should be writing more but admitting things to myself is hard enough, nevermind a bunch of complete strangers on the internet. Boy, if you are reading this I love you and I …just love you. Goodnight. 🙂
I feel so happy since I moved away
I realized a love I was blind to for years
with a best friend I always knew would be right there
I can appreciate my friends more now that I have the opportunity to be alone sometimes, too.
I am listening to Lana Del Ray and I have flowers and a personal sized coffee maker on my desk.
I am doing things I never thought I could do and
I am impressed with myself for the first time. Ready to confront my demons and flex my little arms in their direction. These muscles, they don’t feel like they are going through dystrophy anymore. My neurons are engorged with the erections that are the result of a glimmer of hope.
The first day I was here was about two weeks ago, and I stripped down and rolled in the leaves and we made some beautiful art, my roommate and I. I might just share some in a little bit. I feel so ready right now. <3
So much thirst and you’re looking at me like I am a water fountain. It’s uncomfortable. Every time I sit down to write I realize just how much of an adventure every day has the potential to be. My retail job is cutting hours and the communal way of life is becoming more and more difficult to manage but bonding experiences and moments in a shower with all of our clothes on surrounded by friends squirt-ling water at each-others faces reminds me its all worth the struggle.
A night that ends in tears and involves poetry, introspection, art and laughter and music by alt j. I have no real regret. JUNE 26TH. This is something I just found in my drafts and I am going to share it with you all now. 🙂 If you have a strong thirst, drink up. Life is too short.
That night was pretty dramatic, exploratory and very fun in retrospect. I wouldn’t trade these memories for anything in the world. The art we made was wonderful and the conversations we fostered were irreplaceable.
We stayed up until the sun rose and enjoyed every ounce of being 23 years old. Young. Twenty-somethings. Wired and creating energy out of thing air like most artists do.
Maybe we did too many psychedelics, maybe we did just enough. Following string into the night. Letting the moonlight guide us through suburban hell.