"If you really want to hurt your parents, and you don't have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts. I'm not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something."
_from A Man Without a Country
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Friday, March 17, 2006
In her book of diaries, Daybook, Ann Truitt wrote on the 6th of August, 1974, "Indeed, I am not sure that I can grow as an artist until I can bring myself to accept that I am one."
I say always that I'm not a real artist. Artists are artists and that is just it. Artists have art and that is all. I am lying. I am an artist whether I would be or not. Having lived a bit over 23 years, I don't know yet if I would be or not. But I am. I have more than art. I do more than art. I am more than artist. "Don't it make you sad to know that life is more than who we are?" Damn, if this was my own journal I probably wouldn't feel obliged to cite that: John Rzeznik wrote that, an artist in his own right. That totally interrupted my flow. Ah, work.
I am not saddened by this. I am inspired by it. Everything is more than who we are. There wouldn't be anything if this weren't the case. Why shouldn't we strive to put down in tangible form what we get out of life? This is the way we put things into life. This is what we are. We are so small.
The experiences and emotions and things I've seen of this life are nothing, and yet when I paint, I paint more than an object, more than form, more than color, more than line, more than life. I paint what I see, but not just with my eyes. I see a flower. I don't see just petals and a stem and maybe a few thorns and some leaves. I see more. Life is more.
Many people say that artists see differently. We see no differently than you do. But when we do see something, we take it into ourselves and see more. We think differently. We take what we see and we find the beauty, the ugly, the corrupt, the sublime. We feel the extremes. We can't look on the surface and see just the surface, even if that is really all we're looking at. It doesn't work. Sometimes I wish it had worked, and I'm sure there will be more times when I wish it would work, but that is not who I am. And that probably saved me.
Women do this more than men, it is a part of our biologies, and artists seem to do it more than anyone. I am not tooting my own horn, my life has been a struggle to rid me of this. But I can be more than artist. I can be linguist. I can be wife. I can relax and let myself be me. I can be happy knowing I am who I am, and I can paint. And I can sell paintings and give money to penguins!
I say always that I'm not a real artist. Artists are artists and that is just it. Artists have art and that is all. I am lying. I am an artist whether I would be or not. Having lived a bit over 23 years, I don't know yet if I would be or not. But I am. I have more than art. I do more than art. I am more than artist. "Don't it make you sad to know that life is more than who we are?" Damn, if this was my own journal I probably wouldn't feel obliged to cite that: John Rzeznik wrote that, an artist in his own right. That totally interrupted my flow. Ah, work.
I am not saddened by this. I am inspired by it. Everything is more than who we are. There wouldn't be anything if this weren't the case. Why shouldn't we strive to put down in tangible form what we get out of life? This is the way we put things into life. This is what we are. We are so small.
The experiences and emotions and things I've seen of this life are nothing, and yet when I paint, I paint more than an object, more than form, more than color, more than line, more than life. I paint what I see, but not just with my eyes. I see a flower. I don't see just petals and a stem and maybe a few thorns and some leaves. I see more. Life is more.
Many people say that artists see differently. We see no differently than you do. But when we do see something, we take it into ourselves and see more. We think differently. We take what we see and we find the beauty, the ugly, the corrupt, the sublime. We feel the extremes. We can't look on the surface and see just the surface, even if that is really all we're looking at. It doesn't work. Sometimes I wish it had worked, and I'm sure there will be more times when I wish it would work, but that is not who I am. And that probably saved me.
Women do this more than men, it is a part of our biologies, and artists seem to do it more than anyone. I am not tooting my own horn, my life has been a struggle to rid me of this. But I can be more than artist. I can be linguist. I can be wife. I can relax and let myself be me. I can be happy knowing I am who I am, and I can paint. And I can sell paintings and give money to penguins!
pinguinos
I finally found this: http://www.patagonianatural.org/proyecto_pinguinos_a.htm which is part of the Fundacion Patagonia Natural. They have a part where you can donate money. FINALLY. This makes me so happy. After having spent much time looking on the internet for someone to contact about donating money to an organization that protects these cute little critters, I came across this site. I wish their English section worked, but it doesn't seem to. They have some cute pictures at the bottom of the page though if you're interested. :) Of course you are, everyone loves penguins!
Anyway, I can go through with my plan now if anyone buys any paintings. I'd pray for the penguins, but they'd rather I wrote poetry. (This does not apply that I think any of my neighbors are penguins), it's just, they don't actually care what I do, but,
Anyway, I can go through with my plan now if anyone buys any paintings. I'd pray for the penguins, but they'd rather I wrote poetry. (This does not apply that I think any of my neighbors are penguins), it's just, they don't actually care what I do, but,
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Shiver me timbers
I haven't been on here for quite a while. I guess it seems like a waste of time. No offense. Maybe it's just because I never really have anything to say. At least nothing interesting. I have put all my creative efforts into painting this semester, and last semester I had no time for creating. That sucked. I don't recommend it to anyone. My show is coming up. I hope you all can come see the penguins and smile with them too! I'll put up a picture on here maybe (since I finally know how to do it, yay)!! I had a dream last night that I hadn't ordered my cap and gown and all of a sudden it was the last week of school and oops, oh no! It's too late!!! Then I woke up so I don't even know if I walked or not. Suppose I could use Bill's if all else fails. But I think it'd be too big. He's so wide. Ha ha, I hope you read this one Jeremy Bro, cause no one else will get that.. ARRRRrrrrrr Matey.
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