lit up like a...

we bought our christmas tree yesterday. now it's christmas.  

i love when damian gets all the lights out to make sure they still work after last years twinkling.  he lays them out in rows, strands plugged into every outlet we have. they stretch from our family room, through our dining room, into our kitchen, little glass tubes of white light.  it's so pretty tiptoeing over and around them.

i'm sitting here in the cozy light of those tiny bulbs now weaved throughout our tree, i just need a fire in the old stovepipe fireplace to complete the mood.  oh well, no wood.

a piece of 6

when i was a little kid, playing with my A-Team action figures in the bath, i found myself eyeing the can of shaving cream sitting on the ledge.  

i picked it up and squeezed a bit onto my hand, it was tinted blue and smelled like my dad's hug.  i squeezed a bit more out.  it was fun to watch the foam puff up in my hand, it was so soft and airy like what you would imagine a cloud feeling like if you could bunch it up in your fingers. before i  knew it the can was empty and Mr. T was drowning in little musk scented drifts.

twenty five years later i found myself with that same urge.  yes, in a moment of silly, i emptied my pink can of silky shaving cream into the palm of my hand.  i had just finished using some for its intended purpose when i looked around, for some reason expecting an audience of curious onlookers, and upon finding no one... began to squeeze.  piles of pink foaming fun, little bits setting themselves free and floating downward in slow motion like overweight bubbles.  i was 6 again, i have no idea what prompted it but it was fun and it smelled pretty.  

i'd do it again too.

Prints!

Prints of my paintings are now available in my shop!

4x6 = $5
5x7 = $8

8x10's will be coming... still playing with paper for those.

my ear shall remain intact

all day today i've felt frustrated, tense.  i felt like the clock was my mortal enemy.  i rush to get things done on the weekend but there just doesn't seem to be enough hours in those 2 days.

the frustration brought me to tears over the most trivial thing, i guess it was my breaking point.  after Damian came to my emotional rescue we cracked open the absinthe for a bit of green forgetting just like my friends Lautrec and Van Gogh did once upon a time.  i'm nowhere near a fan of black licorice but the sugar cube tames it quite nicely.

.goodnight.

why art?

how is it that we decide what we want to do in life?  is it something born into us that we sometimes don't acknowledge until later in life?  in high school i took every possible art & drama class that i could but i don't think i fully realized, at that point, that that was what i wanted my life to be.  my main goal in high school seemed to be friends, pot, and getting out.

why must we choose what we want to do for the rest of our lives when we're 16?  aren't we still too young to even know?  do we not have to experience life outside of institutions to discover ourselves?  i remember many a moment in the guidance counselors office discussing what i wanted to do with my life, where & what i would study in college/university.  i had no idea.  i knew i loved theatre, i knew i loved art & photography, i felt pressure to decided on a path.  so, i applied for theatre studies at a few schools and, as a back up, early childhood education (where that choice came from i have no idea).  i didn't get into theatre arts but i did get accepted to ECE, i didn't accept that offer.  i guess i knew deep down that wasn't for me, just applied to appease those around me that said i had to choose.

instead of college i went to work at the company my dad worked for.  i worked 3 days a week and took night classes at The Second City.  i had so much fun in those improv classes, even had to do a performance in my last level (where i sang opera, not something i could have ever seen myself doing in front of an audience but we (me and the 2 guys i sang with) were a hit!).  despite the fun i came to the realization that it wasn't for me, being in front of an audience, i would much prefer to be behind the scenes.  at this point i was 20 years old.  still discovering.

i'm now 31 and i KNOW that i want to be an artist/photographer.  it feels like it's too late now, like i'm "too old".  i could have applied for art school but didn't, i could be well into my art career by now if i had only realized it was my bliss when i was 16.

it takes time, time to live, discover, open, dream, believe, and it's ever evolving. i am NOT too old, i just have to work harder.  

one thing does appear consistent though, the desire to do something, fulfill myself,  in a very competitive field.  i'm not a competitive person, if i'm losing at monopoly i couldn't care less, i was having fun while playing.  the world of art is a competitive and snobby one.  i don't care much for the snobbery, everyone should have beauty hanging from their walls.  the problem is, art is not NEEDED and in these times of cutbacks and penny pinching art is one of the first luxuries to go.  still, i must do it.  it's part of me, i can't help it.  i have a 9-5 corporate job which i would prefer not to have but i have to fund my dream somehow.  funny how that works isn't it?  most of the time when i get home from that job i'm so drained i couldn't be bothered to put that last inch of energy into my studio time.  with commute to & from included it's an 11 1/2-12 (depending on traffic) hour day.  that's pretty long.

anyways, i'll keep on keepin' on and hopefully one day the thing  i love can be the thing that occupies my days.

fresh

newest piece in my shop, check 'er out!  Flying Whale

regarding my state of (inebriated) mind

this is one of my favourite wines and, at $40 a bottle, it's not one i have often. my dad bought me this bottle because he was at the liquor store buying for he and my mom and new i liked it. my parents spoil me.

at the risk of sounding like an alcoholic, i love the way wine makes me feel. after just one glass i feel light, carefree, uplifted, optimistic, full of promise. is that so wrong? if i told a group of AA's that would i be forgiven and understood? would they join me in the pub down the street for a hearty glass of full bodied red? i have a tendency to over-think and that's extremely annoying, especially when trying to paint. so, sometimes i'll indulge in a a few grapes to help with the natural flow, to melt away the part of me that's bent on logic.

most of the time it's red that works the magic but my other liquid weakness also plays a part, takes turns in altering my state of mind if you will. champagne. oh how i love the bubbles.

i could use some red tonight baby, everyone at my work seems to be sick so all day i've been forced to listen to coughing and snot. kinda makes one feel sick by association.