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I have been looking again. Looking. Looking at what makes life. What makes my life, what touches my life, and what makes life…life. I haven’t pursued my fine art much over the years. I think I have been too sensitive. I want to feel appreciated and justified.
I don’t know. I think I have been offended too deeply by the praise heaped on those that create work that is somehow beneath me. I don’t feel that some smears on a canvas make a work worthy of consideration, or a statement on society. I need to see some craft. I need to see a twist on thought…something to provoke thought.
So, am I looking? Or thinking?
Perhaps by looking I am thinking…it feels that way. It feels like I am going to be in the studio again. I am cleaning my workspaces, I am building stereo systems to sustain my creativity in the workspaces. I am brooding. I am fucking. I am tasting. I am watching. I am crying. I am farting. A lot.
My mind is feeling the morning glints of sun dance through the leafy canopy in the backstreets of my past. The yearning. The disconnection. The beauty…the pain. I am feeling again.
My wife is gone. She is not my wife. She is my friend…and I am glad. Peace be unto her…and peace be unto me.
I am a man again. I am myself again. I have my dreams…and they are mine. Finally.
To have myself…is indescribable. It is still a bit much to take. It’s like having always seen my reflection along the roadway…my body was driving the car, but I was in the windows, on the tankers, across the granite that dots the road. Now I am in the car. I had been driving the whole time, but not responsible. Not myself…but doing damage nonetheless.
Humbled, happy, freaked-out…and ready to work.
This is Emily. She is an adorable child from the North Bay. The other girls are not her friends…the one in purple is a mouthy little thing…and made it clear she did not care for Emily.
Of course, we love Emily.
Emily is all of us.
In some way, in some place.
Emily is art.
I am a portrait artist. I love the portrait…I will never be cool. It has always been about portraits for me. You can do them, or you are not a true artist. You can do any other form…after you render a proper portrait, and I will respect your work though I might not like each piece. If smearing shit on a wall is an option, not all you can do…I will consider your work. My work is not very strong right now…but I have been brewing for some time. I hope to reward my fellow artists who have been patient with my lack of output, and over abundance of criticism. I will shut-up. I will put-up…
We shall see…
What I consider.