Procrastination Has A Face

I have finally completed it. It's taken the longest out of all of my paintings to complete. Almost 5 months. It began as a year long project, one brush stroke a day. I was going to test my patience, that didn't work, I gave up. And left it alone for a few months, only now to complete it

Procrastination Has A Face

I sat down, finally, and painted. I didn't finish it, but it's almost there. The situation for painting was different. Usually I hit a massively creative vibe and run and paint for hours. This time I was super mellow, almost to the point of being tired and falling asleep. On top of that, it was a severly erotic moment. I was honestly not paying one lick of attention to the painting, but rather to the feelings going on in my body. This was exciting. Not knowing if my brush strokes were adequate or well good, and really not caring if they were or not.
Art and Seduction

Shipping of Arts

I am selling two of my paintings, hopefully. I've found that I would much rather sell to someone I know, than to a complete stranger. At least I know they are genuinely interested, and I can get updates at to how they are enjoying them or using them. The person interested is looking at Numbers:


And Vulnerability:


It will be interesting trying to ship Vulnerability though. The canvas is 48in x 24in. So either I need to find a large cardboard mirror box, or have someone build me one. Either way it will be time consuming and expensive to ship.
Numbers is a painting that is hard to let go. It means a great deal to me. There is a quiet passion within it. Hopefully the person buying it will be able to see that.

The birds are up early

I didn't lock myself away, and force myself to be creative. I walked past my room and saw my works, and was disappointed in myself. Why, I don't know. Issues. Instead I watched the Documentary Film Channel. I thought it was an intelligent thing to do, and a fair compromise. Though I know I should have been in the paint. Another great excuse is that I'm disliking my brushes right now. None of them are doing what I need. There's an easy rememdy for that, but I ignore it. Everything is in place, the paint, the canvas, my muse. But not myself. Tonight maybe.

Early Morning

I am someone who needs to paint. There's something about the physical and emotional act of painting that I need. Yes need, not want or desire, need. It's a part of me and who I am, even though that's one thing I've tried desperately to stray away from. Why? Why would I try to tell myself that I'm not an artist. Because I have the tendency to listen to others and not myself. I was told that I was not an artist, that I was this list of other things, which in itself are all well and good, so I went with it. And now I'm feeling it, the draw, the emotional longing for the thing I love doing. But what has happened to me. I've lost confidence in my hands, in myself. I can't will myself to even attempt anymore. This pull back and forth is tiring. I will close myself off. Lock myself in. And paint. Force myself to get right again.

4/11 Nauseated

I can be cliche
Use various metaphors
Drowning in a sea
Soaring through the air
I am not so shallow
My thoughts go beyond metaphors
Similes, Hyperboles, Ironies
Emotions slightly out of reach
Unable to be expressed in human words
Alien words?
Now that's just silly
I am not one for silliness
When seriousness is what I must convey
At least now
This is it
This is really it

4/6 Evening

I am no good with my words.
It can be misunderstood as apathy.
It can be misconstrued as indifference.
It can be though of as simple mindedness.
All are false.