Some great master, I remember hearing, got into oil painting because he liked the smell. I've missed the smell of linseed oil, the burning, unpleasant stink of turpentine. They are the smells of a birthing room. They make me feel like something is afoot, something significant.
My dear friend Mori recently told me the story about the regrets dying people have. She said, "You don't wanna be thinking: 'Damn, should have done more art!'" And just like that I decided, that no unearthly apocalypse, let alone mundane worries about grad school and success, will stop me from making art.
Here's the start of my new painting (modeled, of course, by Mori). Painting a head feels a lot different now that I've been drawing skulls in my anatomy course. Somehow, things fall into place much smoother. And no, of course this work won't be just a portrait study! There will be a dark streak in it, just in time for Halloween.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Black Roses
Suddenly, the leaden clouds grow still and the storm freezes mid-strike.
My thoughts stop scattering and I can hear black ink-filled roses bloom in my heart.
I wonder: is their darkness beautiful or hideous?
But it doesn't matter, because no matter what - I want to pick up a brush and trace the unwrapping of watery petals, turbulent ink blots, rainbows of black streaks, drowning, unquenchable.
Life is but the interplay of water and black ink. Cherish the chaos.
My thoughts stop scattering and I can hear black ink-filled roses bloom in my heart.
I wonder: is their darkness beautiful or hideous?
But it doesn't matter, because no matter what - I want to pick up a brush and trace the unwrapping of watery petals, turbulent ink blots, rainbows of black streaks, drowning, unquenchable.
Life is but the interplay of water and black ink. Cherish the chaos.
Monday, August 12, 2013
The Maker
Stumbled upon an excellent short:
Eerie and beautiful. It leaves a pang and a question. Makes one wonder if our life is as lonely and fleeting.
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