I've been up since 3:45 a.m. Frustrated with a couple of situations at work, frustrated with other things. I started this painting last night, in a sort of daze. Smearing different colors on the canvas, not sure where I was going. I saw a couple of different faces in the paint, but just kept drawing the brush over and through them. Finally I thought with the green color, I would make some sort of frog man.
While I laid in bed awake, awake, awake, I finally thought, fuck it, and got up and painted for several hours.
I had been eating Wonderful Salt & Pepper Pistachios the night before and my shells were still on my desk. Yes, that's right. And I picked up a half shell and used it as a sort of paintbrush with yellow oil paint to put on some bumps and ridges to this fellow. I saw his arms, the black on the chin and extending into the purple looked like whiskers/flying whiskers so that's where the straight-edge razor came it.
Mostly I was once again trying to loosen the grip in my chest and stomach of these aggravations so I was letting my hand just move, applying color randomly. Sometimes I think the best things I make are out of trying to alleviate darker frustrations and feelings.
I am feeling frustrated (not the word I was going to do). I wrote a blog post for each of my last face paintings, but then didn't include them. Sometimes I just don't want to explain myself. Ugh. I have some really great things going on in my life, but I also feel like I'm spinning my wheels and spinning my wheels and don't know where the hell I'm going or what I'm doing. Sometimes it feels like no matter what you do, it's not enough and everyone is sprinting ahead of you. And, every time you think you're achieving something, spilling your guts out through paint, someone is achieving more. (I know, I KNOW--it's not about comparing...but seriously, SOMETIMES it WILL creep in!) I was just watching a documentary where this guy who is autistic and a painter, said when people say they could do what he does, he says to them, "Good. Do it." (-;
I cringe as I reread this. What a cry baby. Too bad. I'm feelin' it. Maybe someone who's feeling the same will feel better knowing there's another sad sack out there. Maybe I'm just tired. I want to pull a Thoreau and just go live in a cabin in solitude for two years. Yes, I'd say I better get some sleep.
I read in the New York Times that André 3000 of Outkast was recounting how Prince told him the following:
“When you come back, people want to be wowed.
And what’s the best way to wow people?
Just give them the hits.”
I’m explaining to him that I really didn’t want to do it.
He said: “I’ve been there. I’ve tried to do other things.
After you give them the hits, then you can do whatever.”
Well, I idolize Prince. I should take his advice. I should paint some cute, happy, approachable pictures. Uh, huh. Instead I'm feeling like Irish-born/British figurative painter, Francis Bacon.
This painting started out as a long, pissed-off balloon face with super squinty eyes and a hand flippin' the bird. I tried to calm it down. I feel like I have to censor myself so I don't get all sorts of labels thrown my way. Shall I say, dear world, UGH again? I see my future...I'll die from inhalation of toxic fumes from oil paints, both inhaled and absorbed through my skin which is always smeared with something (hmm, that doesn't sound good), lying on the ground outside of 6 storage units, filled with all my paintings. See? I AM in a bad mood. This dude doesn't look nearly as angry as I started out feeling. Guess the music I was listening to helped me to get out of my funk.
12" x 24"
Oil, Acrylic, Ink, Ground Pastel, Frustration on Canvas
