February 15, 2013
.
The nature of this world we call life is
duality. And at the very core of it is permanent change. So therefore
the true nature of the world, indeed the very essence of this life we
hold so dear, is in fact an endless succession of goodbyes.
January 25, 2013
creators
'From the age of six, I could draw forms and objects.
By 50 I had turned out an infinite number of drawings.
But I am not happy about anything I did before 70.
Only at 73 did I begin to understand the true form
and nature of birds, fish and plants. By 80 I had made
a lot of progress. At 90 I will begin to get to the root
of it all. By 100 I will have reached a Superior State
in art, undefinable, and by 110, every dot and line will
be living. I challenge those who live as long as me
to see if I keep my word.'
Hokusai Katsushika
By 50 I had turned out an infinite number of drawings.
But I am not happy about anything I did before 70.
Only at 73 did I begin to understand the true form
and nature of birds, fish and plants. By 80 I had made
a lot of progress. At 90 I will begin to get to the root
of it all. By 100 I will have reached a Superior State
in art, undefinable, and by 110, every dot and line will
be living. I challenge those who live as long as me
to see if I keep my word.'
Hokusai Katsushika
August 26, 2012
a difficult balance
The in between and the little things are difficult to juggle with the grind of everyday life putting pressure on me. All three are very real to me simultaneously and that's why it's so difficult to balance them all well.
Where everyday life is concerned, I am, apparently, too sensitive.
Laughable, I know, but there you have it.
Anyway, yesterday on the metro I actually contemplated letting go of making art for good. I couldn't bear the thought for very long though. However, I did indulge in it long enough to feel parts of my heart and mind cohesion tremble. Twas quite traumatic.
I have not been painting or drawing much these last few months. Sounds like a contradiction, I know, but I never really stop painting even if I'm not actually pushing any paint around. It's hard to explain, but it is the truth. I have found a temporary outlet for my pictorial frustrations, I write (I mean, an actual story). Wild, I know, but something is actually growing from it so I'm content to just go with the flow. Writing assuages some of the frustration, but it is not as satisfying as painting. Nothing is.
And yet, I can't paint.
It hurts to admit it, even in writing.
I know this non-painting time is only temporary, it always is. But the pain of not being able to paint seems to paralyze me with drawing as well. In the mean time, knowing I'll be painting again keeps me going forward. Maybe I expect too much out of painting. Maybe.
I'm still breathing.
Just keep breathing.
June 07, 2012
May 28, 2012
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