Thursday, February 28, 2013

The 40th Hour

We've hit the 40th hour, The Lady and I. (clicking the link will show you how she started out and you can see how far she's come along) The tender ache I feel when working on her was something I felt I needed to push on and work through, despite the discomfort. Art has a funny way of doing that to people, making them uncomfortable but somehow making that discomfort worthwhile. And so, I picked up my brush, put the music back on and let my emotions lead my hand.
And I'm not going to lie; it hurt. Working on her has been laced with a modicum of pain, the sort you keep coming back to - like a canker sore that you keep poking with your tongue or the bruise you continually push on to watch it change color. Yet despite the ache, I keep coming back to her. Stepping up bravely with my brush (and sometimes a bottle of wine) to keep walking this painted path with her. She has something to teach me, something to help me through. She's letting me pour all of my hurt, disappointment and emotional over-load in to her.
The Lady is leading me in to the darkness but will also guide me back out, torch in hand, like sacred Hecate. She has brought me to tears and to my knees before her and still she continues to push me to my emotional and artistic limits. We've hit the 40th hour, she and I, but in the deepest parts of my intuition I know we have many more to traverse. And though the changes may not all be stark and noticeable to those who are not up close with her, they are necessary as she spirals out and expands from my heart and on to the canvas.
I've lost track of the layers of paint she has in to her right now but the least built up portion of the canvas, the green spirals at the bottom, have 10 - 12 layers of paint. So you can imagine how much has gone in to the most built up area, the glowing vortex she holds.



4 comments:

  1. I hope this doesn't sound assholish, but I do envy your ability to work through so much of life with your art. I wish I had an artistic outlet to get my emotions out. All I do now is cry or break plates on my patio when no one is home.

    Anyway, I do love coming here and watching your artistic expressions of your emotions. Again, not much unlike your altar....it's like seeing your insides manifest on the outside.

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    1. Nope, not assholish at all. At least, no more than 90% of the comments I leave people.

      The only advice I can give, as far as using art as an emotional outlet is to just go for it. Fuck if it looks good, fuck if it looks like anything at all. Just take your emotions to the page and let them go. Sort of like meditation, don't worry about where you're going just let it happen. Go at that paper and scribble, write, claw, rip... whatever needs to happen just let it happen. And when you're done and you're a heaving, water logged mess you never have to look at it again or show it to anyone else. But that paper with all it's scratches, jumbles and scribbles will show that raw emotion back to you and may even have insights for you if you sit with it and look for shapes and patterns. Sometimes it's just a fucking mess and that's ok too.

      Honestly, I do that myself with my oil pastels all the time. Your art is one of those raw emotion sessions, she just turned out a lot prettier than most of them. I don't show the awful, nasty ugly stuff because I'm not at a point where I'm comfortable letting people see my bad work. Also because I don't keep a lot of it. Once it's out there and not in me any more, I'll sometimes burn it. I don't need that shit hanging around.

      And... now you've got yourself a long reply. See what you did? ;-) <3

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  2. The raw beauty also shows the pain. She is beautiful and loathsome at the same time. This of course is my observation based on my own stuff.
    I am so excited for you to be able to "pile it on" in order to chip it away. Good for you. Oma Linda

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    1. I definitely agree on the adjectives you used for her. She's attractive yet disconcerting; something about her drawing you in yet making you feel incredibly uneasy.

      Which is more or less an accurate depiction of the feelings I've poured in to her: sometimes joyous and beautiful and other times hurt and loathing. Which means I'm definitely doing something right here.

      Love ya, Oma.

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