It has been ages and ages since I was in a drawing studio and lately it’s been pressing in on me. I want to paint, I want to draw. I want to spend hours without moving; totally and completely engrossed in what I am doing. I want aching muscles. I want to forget where I am. The Fine Arts Center at Drake is so vivid in my mind: I miss that dirty, cluttered, hallway of a classroom. I miss the constant creative atmosphere of my student life. I miss the hours; the pressure. Did I just say that?
I have so many projects that I “should” be working on (the Kindle project; a logo for a client in SF that I’m working on with Claire, finding a job…), that sometimes I forget that I should be living my life the way I want to. And that the only way I’m going to have time to do what fulfills me is if I make time. I guess I’m feeling a little overwhelmed and a little underwhelmed, all at the same time.
So. That being said, when The Jealous Curator showed me this today, I nearly started drooling.
“Leo Charre stepped into my life draped in black, smoking a cigarette with his skinny grinning (then) bride at his side, and masquerading as the puppeteer looking for his puppets. I was selling art on the street and, three days later, the couple moved into my abandoned warehouse with me and taught me how to smoke used cigarettes and how to paint (how to really paint) and also the importance of drinking a glass of wine while watching the moon relax into a nest of tree limbs. Leo was the first painter I met who made me feel awkward and foolish and downright unlearned. He would quiz me on various artists I should know, and he would watch as I fumbled through oil paint, finally giving up and retreating back to my acrylics to let the master take over. He worked tirelessly for months on one painting while I knocked out hundreds. One day he dragged in a piece of plywood and sanded it down and left it sitting like a new born baby in the middle of the warehouse. I couldn’t resist, so I dove in and created my first real painting on wood. He was irate at the time that I had stolen his wood, but it was the break I needed and two days later I sold the painting and we used to money to by some really nice wine. We lived and worked for months for the sake of art. We rarely ate, smoked a lot, drank a little, but mostly made art all day and then dragged ourselves out to the street to hawk our wares.”
Gorgeous. I need this. I have an enormous frame which I rescued from the dumpster at work, gathering dust in our living room. Everyday it beseeches me to cover up the cheesy alcohol advertisement with something lovingly created.
Decision made: once I get home from Free Taco Night at The Lyndale Tap House, I am sanding and prepping that monster for painting.