Two Things, for Now, to Focus On
Here, it is Spring, or a little past, green, powerful fluids coursing through veins, powerful, pungent life scents, that catch you like sharp perfumes, when outside, you poke your nose up to suck more in, and if there is a such a thing as aromatherapy, this is the best of it, calming, healing, and reminding. Reminding that life pulses it yellow blood yearly, and years go by fast, and then, faster, and at one point, you get to smell it and feel it only one more time. Or, you just have, and that was it. So I poke my nose into the air and suck it in as deep as i can- the cottonwood, the grass, the sky.
I'm not a pro artist, I'm a wager earner. Working on computers to make other people's dreams come true. Day after day after day. And that's a lot of computer work, and a lot of sitting. Fortunately, in the AM, my mind registers pleasure. Its why the computer, and this whole technological infatuation, works. It tends to encourage endorphins. To be efficient, resourceful, to Google this and that, and use the great Gelatin that binds us all- or at least, will eventually- and have it work for us, and make us money. And a livelihood. But I know, it has no footing. It isn't really what matters, to my generation at least, as all.
Now, at this particular point, and hour, I need to consider, that doing art, that painting, for me, can never be part of sitting at a computer. If it is, I die, inside, at least. Blasphemy. But i straddle worlds, and much needs to just be sitting in a field, looking. Not looking at a field on a computer.
I'm writing some B.S. And I know it. I am processing. its been a tough winter, a tough week, a tough 24 hours. I get to do one thing in this world, beside the endless round of maintenance, and fixing things, and minor pointless projects, and trying to figure out how i fit into world of other people, and what they want, know, expect. I know it. I get to paint, regardless if it has any place in the world at all. My eye sight is diminishing, my memory taking exponential leaps into not remembering, my understanding of what is worth painting no more developed then it was when i was 16. Yet, its this thing one gets to hold on to, because, I am told, and barely believe it, that i am good at it.
So i bought more Harbor Freight canvas on the way home tonight, and spent a half hour looking for the gesso, and bought some boards- and connect it all to what it is i need to do to stay sane, to deal with the things i have been told are indecisive, to turn back into my inner life, which is what i always go back to when the bigger life seems like its not quite working.
I haven't written since December. Nothing to say. Now, i feel like i need to say something, suddenly. To get back to where i was, and be maybe more like other people. I doubt it. But whatever, i will gesso tomorrow, start looking at how the light hits the maples. And i keep bees, and so thats a big thing, a focus and distraction. So there are two things to focus on. Its Spring, bees, paint. And endless being a cog, working. Jesus. It feels sort of desperate, and. in fact, there's a bit of that. Trying to see how it is, that i, me, and in your case, you, if you are of the same ilk (unlikely), fit. Fit and make it work. And don't pass out of this world with a lot of, well- i could have done better. I don't want that. And i don't think i want that much.
I'm not a pro artist, I'm a wager earner. Working on computers to make other people's dreams come true. Day after day after day. And that's a lot of computer work, and a lot of sitting. Fortunately, in the AM, my mind registers pleasure. Its why the computer, and this whole technological infatuation, works. It tends to encourage endorphins. To be efficient, resourceful, to Google this and that, and use the great Gelatin that binds us all- or at least, will eventually- and have it work for us, and make us money. And a livelihood. But I know, it has no footing. It isn't really what matters, to my generation at least, as all.
Now, at this particular point, and hour, I need to consider, that doing art, that painting, for me, can never be part of sitting at a computer. If it is, I die, inside, at least. Blasphemy. But i straddle worlds, and much needs to just be sitting in a field, looking. Not looking at a field on a computer.
I'm writing some B.S. And I know it. I am processing. its been a tough winter, a tough week, a tough 24 hours. I get to do one thing in this world, beside the endless round of maintenance, and fixing things, and minor pointless projects, and trying to figure out how i fit into world of other people, and what they want, know, expect. I know it. I get to paint, regardless if it has any place in the world at all. My eye sight is diminishing, my memory taking exponential leaps into not remembering, my understanding of what is worth painting no more developed then it was when i was 16. Yet, its this thing one gets to hold on to, because, I am told, and barely believe it, that i am good at it.
So i bought more Harbor Freight canvas on the way home tonight, and spent a half hour looking for the gesso, and bought some boards- and connect it all to what it is i need to do to stay sane, to deal with the things i have been told are indecisive, to turn back into my inner life, which is what i always go back to when the bigger life seems like its not quite working.
I haven't written since December. Nothing to say. Now, i feel like i need to say something, suddenly. To get back to where i was, and be maybe more like other people. I doubt it. But whatever, i will gesso tomorrow, start looking at how the light hits the maples. And i keep bees, and so thats a big thing, a focus and distraction. So there are two things to focus on. Its Spring, bees, paint. And endless being a cog, working. Jesus. It feels sort of desperate, and. in fact, there's a bit of that. Trying to see how it is, that i, me, and in your case, you, if you are of the same ilk (unlikely), fit. Fit and make it work. And don't pass out of this world with a lot of, well- i could have done better. I don't want that. And i don't think i want that much.