More space and my need to express makes painting over unsold works easy. But then there’s that bad camera taking low resolution images in odd light, somewhat blurred ah... I can’t get the shine away, can’t just call for the powder puff. Okay. Lost that image.Painted over, “Does anyone listen?” And now I’ve got this sepulchre/ hand tree coming back into my pen. The same happened when I painted over the naked ladies in a cave. Some things just don’t want to be covered up.
If all I’m left with is a blurred image I can’t even use it for printing and if it wants to exist, my automatic hand will show me what persists.
I like the print media, I could worry about the environmental aspects and the safety of the human labour involved, but at this point I’m prepared to be a cog in the wheel of possible disaster, because everything can seem like a disaster waiting to happen. And, I cannot deny myself everything, or I wouldn’t be doing much at all most probably. Unless someone really is screaming in my face that I’m hurting them. That’d stop me. Just hope they can then give me some good directions so I don’t have to sit numb.I hear and sense a lot of stuff. This isn’t my psychology, it’s rather transmissions I’ve received that I’ve unpacked and loaded onto the page, capturing them and arranging them. I’m not into snobby rules. I’m full of farts and snot anyway, so I’m sucking cess through a straw if I think I can make it as a door nob.
People like to have elite divisions though. It was the same in acting – selling out was going and doing soapies and television ads. But really it was only those who “sold out” that ended up getting most of the theatre work. People pretended that they were holding out for “real acting work” when really TV just didn’t think their mug was interesting enough to sell their product. Now, I’m happy to see someone drink out of a mug with one of my pictures on it. And to have them wearing my stuff… why would I see anything wrong with them being wrapped in my art?
Ah, but my automatic hand. It picks up and senses something out there and tries to make sense of it, probably offending everyone and everything that means something to me. I cannot stop it, for then I would be nothing. If I've got the flu, like I have now, it probably influences stuff as well. Puts the whole mind into paranoia attack mode.
Ah, but my automatic hand. It picks up and senses something out there and tries to make sense of it, probably offending everyone and everything that means something to me. I cannot stop it, for then I would be nothing. If I've got the flu, like I have now, it probably influences stuff as well. Puts the whole mind into paranoia attack mode.
Trouble, that’s what automatics are. They don’t always say what I want them to. But if they did, there would be no drama and story to draw. This one followed a topic for an IFN post: Hang me out to dry. My picture is all wrong, but that’s because I couldn’t draw the real picture, which was a place I didn’t want to go to. I was never even able to find 80s horror movies funny, let alone the stuff of real protest. Foolish card eh? The laugh wears off, the jokes fade away. If none are there, then how can we play?
