It’s the day before Thanksgiving. There is a ice storm outside, but it is warm in cozy in my room as I eat popcorn. Tomorrow I will have my first Thanksgiving dinner with Diva’s entire family -- my new family. Diva has been telling me for two weeks not to be nervous, “Just be yourself... just be yourself.” It is her mantra. It the past her ex-boy friends tried to put on airs and her family saw right through them. They just want people to be what they are -- and that is enough. I love them already.
A moment ago I was going through my notebook of drawings I have been doing to illustrate this blog. There was one that didn’t work out, I ripped it out of the book and was ready to crumple it up. I heard a voice scream, “Save that, it might be important.”
It was Diva, she wasn’t with me, but I head her voice inside my head. I stopped since I knew she was right, she always is. Just ask her, she will tell you as much. I once had all my old paintings tossed in a corner of my apartment, I gave some away the last time I moved and don’t look at the others. A few months ago she looked at them and insisted I enter two of them in an art exhibition here in Minnesota. I humored her. One painting won best in show, the other best realistic acrylic painting. Alright, she was right -- they weren’t as worthless as I thought. I can be a very hard critic when it comes to my own work.
I often do a lot of rough sketches until I get a design I like. I toss everything away and keep just the finished work. Diva pointed out that I shouldn’t since those might be important someday. It is funny, I am crazy about seeing artist’s early sketches or hearing the rough demos of songwriters -- yet I don’t treat my own work with that respect. Diva maybe right. Maybe? IS right. If I don’t treat myself and my work with respect why should I expect anyone else to?
I started a notebook a few months back where I save all of my early sketches. I will save this bad one too. For personal reasons I now think of them as my journal. They are one of the ways I talk to myself and work out emotional problems. Sarah Mclachlan once said she writes songs as a way of finding a place for something that is troubling her. It is a kind of therapy or exorcism.
I am also starting to feel this is my road forward, my place in this world. I strongly believe what Bob Dylan said that if you create it should be something that only you could create. Looking at my old paintings I don’t think that they are brimming with me. Looking at my new drawings they reflect a certain Vincent-ness. They are playful, silly, warm and looking at often serious things in a off-kilter, hopefully disarming way. They are very Vincent. I don’t look at them the way I look at my old paintings and begin to tear them apart: that hand isn’t right, that chin isn’t perfect. No, when I look at my new drawings I find myself smiling and nodding. Yeah, that is what I was feeling -- that’s me. And that is enough.
A moment ago I was going through my notebook of drawings I have been doing to illustrate this blog. There was one that didn’t work out, I ripped it out of the book and was ready to crumple it up. I heard a voice scream, “Save that, it might be important.”
It was Diva, she wasn’t with me, but I head her voice inside my head. I stopped since I knew she was right, she always is. Just ask her, she will tell you as much. I once had all my old paintings tossed in a corner of my apartment, I gave some away the last time I moved and don’t look at the others. A few months ago she looked at them and insisted I enter two of them in an art exhibition here in Minnesota. I humored her. One painting won best in show, the other best realistic acrylic painting. Alright, she was right -- they weren’t as worthless as I thought. I can be a very hard critic when it comes to my own work.
I often do a lot of rough sketches until I get a design I like. I toss everything away and keep just the finished work. Diva pointed out that I shouldn’t since those might be important someday. It is funny, I am crazy about seeing artist’s early sketches or hearing the rough demos of songwriters -- yet I don’t treat my own work with that respect. Diva maybe right. Maybe? IS right. If I don’t treat myself and my work with respect why should I expect anyone else to?
I started a notebook a few months back where I save all of my early sketches. I will save this bad one too. For personal reasons I now think of them as my journal. They are one of the ways I talk to myself and work out emotional problems. Sarah Mclachlan once said she writes songs as a way of finding a place for something that is troubling her. It is a kind of therapy or exorcism.
I am also starting to feel this is my road forward, my place in this world. I strongly believe what Bob Dylan said that if you create it should be something that only you could create. Looking at my old paintings I don’t think that they are brimming with me. Looking at my new drawings they reflect a certain Vincent-ness. They are playful, silly, warm and looking at often serious things in a off-kilter, hopefully disarming way. They are very Vincent. I don’t look at them the way I look at my old paintings and begin to tear them apart: that hand isn’t right, that chin isn’t perfect. No, when I look at my new drawings I find myself smiling and nodding. Yeah, that is what I was feeling -- that’s me. And that is enough.
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