calling on freedom and feeling it beat the air just above your hands. i guess if you catch it there's nothing to push for anymore, anyway.
re-do of album cover sketch:
gonna just do it later today. the poppies are going to morph into this type of cactus called devil's crawling cactus and within those the name will come through. the middle will be vintage cool and the outside more grounded graphic bits are going to be that 70's red orange.
There's so much fucked-up reality, like Frank the pimp who hunted me down on Sunset. He steps out of his black boat and his arm muscles are eye-level and he has this black wife-beater, tells me don't i know chocolate goes well with vanilla. i say oh really, real flat, like wow how enlightening. he has 92 different pieces of gold jewelry on his body it follows this pattern: heavy sexual innuendo to professing serious relationship intent to overwhelmingly vulgar to claiming he can put 10000 in my bank account by next month AND we'll have great sex.
I mean and then there is all this fucking cocaine everywhere. I don't like Snow's photographs as much as I like Nan Goldin's, and I can't tell you why I'm attracted to this sort of imagery. It's so incredibly dark. I guess maybe it's the honesty in them; because you can't reproduce that kind of stuff in a studio. I can relate to the obsession with death that comes across in them so strongly. HOW ARE YOU IN THAT MANY RIGHT PLACES AT THE RIGHT TIMES? damn.
I only just learned about him 'cause he died on the 13th of this month and I visit some blogs of people that I guess were close friends with him.
Look for my jackalope/I Don't Want This Skin piece in the Dig either this week or next week.
I'm working on sketches for a cd cover/booklet, and finishing the split stitch outlines for "WITCH BABY" on the back of my jacket.
Honestly, I've been pre-occupied with survival and it's left me totally dry. I don't have the energy to make art. I haven't found that balance yet, and it's kind of destroying me little by little. If I'm not concentrating on survival, then I'm practicing the art of ESCAPISM. Emotional energy is at an all time low over here, the capacity has been reached.
In 10 days I'm moving out of my daydream place. I have no idea what's going to happen. I'm looking for live-in nanny positions. If I can just make a few hundred bucks I'm going to go on the road and hitchhike.
'cause when you ain't got nothing, you ain't got nothing to lose. And that's the point I'm at.
I have a little less than $40 left to my name.
In many ways, I feel like I don't know what else is left to push for. I have a really long list of goals, but I feel kind of done.
I know I have a lot of talents all over the board and it will probably take many more years to figure out my niche. Life is kind of daunting, and I'm not so sure I'm figuring out the rules of the game fast enough.
This is a practice painting for what may become the best thing that's ever happened to me art-wise. This is with leather acrylics.
The canvas is 4"x6"
The "assignment" was to do an Hawaiian landscape with a waterfall. This is the piece in progress, maybe 70%, maybe 80%. I need some objective help with this as far as technique is concerned. Any other critique is also highly appreciated.
The opportunity is to paint panels on leather that are then sewn into leather jackets. I'm talking real rock and roller clothing. South Paradiso.
You can see an example of how my work would be integrated into the clothing if you click on "jackets" and then hover over "window of the sun."
To have found a way my work can be functional and time-based, worn around, and on the bodies of the people I love... I mean, THAT'S where it's at for me.
The first piece of art I attempted to make upon moving here. It's continuing on my theme of expressing my iconography and goals.
It's inside of a matchbox.
This is the base for it. Johnny's knees will be facing the inside. From the end of Hunter S. Thompson's "Hell's Angels." Was very much into the freedom/fear/adrenaline triangle.