November

This is the month of nabloplogmofowtf.  I don't know what it's called, but it's basically a month of writing daily trying to get a novel done. I'm not doing that. I'd like to write a book in my life, but I have no idea what it would be about. I'm not in that phase of my life. I'm sewing a LOT. I am certain there is a sewing version of this. I know there are some art versions too. Because I've been sewing so much, I've been neglecting my art. Therefore, I'm doing art everyday this month. I suppose I should also document and post it somewhere. I struggle with this. It feels forced and inauthentic and just, off somehow. As if just because a thing is blogged, it is a proper entity. As if nothing truly exists unless you can see it on a screen. I hate that. But I don't know any other easier way to connect and put stuff out into the world. So I suppose that will be happening too.

I've come to terms with the fact that I really don't like blogging. It feels like virtual scrapbooking, and I hate scrapbooking. The process holds no enjoyment for me. It's like knitting. I only do it out of necessity because I want the final product. This makes me feel like I'm lacking. However will I make it as any sort of creative person if I don't put a lot of effort into a web presence? I guess that means I'll need to actually connect with people. In the world. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa? How does that work? I have to stop telling myself that I never have time. I have to find and make time. *sigh*

I did a little doodle yesterday, and today I did some random color play so I'm on track!  I really wanted to dive into an art journal spread, but I didn't have enough time. The pull was fierce though, so that will motivate me to keep going and make it a priority. I will get these things posted. Maybe I'll upload photos once a week. I need some sort of goal, but daily isn't going to happen. And does anyone really care? Maybe I'll eve try to get people to look at them. I'm going to hyperventilate. I can't ever decide if I want feedback or not. I do this mainly for the experience of doing it. I don't know where to go beyond that. Do I need to know at this point? I feel like I do, but I think that's actually a mental block that becomes an excuse and freezes me up for no good reason.

I've been doing morning pages again whenever I get the chance, so that is pretty awesome. Those scribbles give me so much clarity. Why do they feel like a dirty secret? Like an AA meeting or something. Like I shouldn't have to TRY so dang hard.

Nightmare

I just woke up gasping and shaking. In my dream, my husband showed me these photos he had been taking, or maybe they were paintings. They were kind of beautiful in a way. Women were artfully arranged, but swollen, bruised, contorted into impossible angles. He told me he wanted to show me how he made them. Somehow he had been acquiring fresh cadavers, and then slowly and purposefully beating the shit out of them and arranging them into still life. Bruising was his paint, and swelling and breaking was his sculpture.

He told me women, always women,started donating their bodies to him. That he had a cult following.  Sometimes he would put out a request for a republican, or a farmer, or a cat person. Something he would later incorporate into the image.
While he's explaining, he gently breaks  her nose. Then he punches it again and again. He caves one of her cheekbones in with a small hammer. He continues hitting and breaking until I start to cry. I ask him to stop. Tell him I can't watch this. It feels wrong. I can't be here. I can't believe you do this. He laughs at me. He says I'm being silly. Nobody is being hurt. It's art. I say I just never imagined he could do something like this. He accuses me of being old fashioned and foolish. Of believing in god. I suddenly feel like he's a stranger.  A dangerous insane person beating up dead girls to arrange on our bed. I can't breathe. I don't know whether to run or cry.

Then he starts to cry and says I'm right. He must be a bad person, then the self pity turns into anger he yells that at me that I'm a such an idiot. That people love this. I feel trapped between grief and self defense. I wake up covered in sweat, shaking, gasping. And after I calm down, I'm inspired. I haven't painted in two weeks. That has become too long.

I only slept 4 hours. But I don't think I'll be falling back asleep. Is it because I fell asleep listening to classical music? Too much Dexter and Breaking Bad?  Now I'm thinking of taxidermy and Body worlds and "The Kiss."  Gross. Yuck. Ew. Violence. The art of violence. Necroviolent still life. What a band name!

The Tide is Turning

Something strange is happening. I actually need this blog! Maybe I'll even put some time into personalizing it instead of just using junk I found in the templates section. I created it with the hopes of it being a creativity log. But then I just blabbed and yammered like I always do. I also forgot about it for months at a time. However, in the four months since I last wrote, I've really done a lot! I have made about 8 pairs of underwear for myself. I made another comfortable jumpsuit for Naia. I'll be finished with a wool jacket as soon as I find the perfect buttons. Gotta love my timing. Just perfect for spring! *sigh* I made a cowl neck, 3/4 sleeve dress out of knit fabric. I whipped it out in one night and wore it to a karaoke party. That might be all for my sewing projects. I haven't taken pictures of them yet, except for selfies to show off my undies. Oh, what the heck. I'll throw some skin on the interwebz.

Ok, that's a little embarrassing. Cute though, right? I love sewing lace onto stuff. Ridiculously satisfying.

I took apart a pair of enameled thrifted earrings and remade them and now I wear them quite often.

I found a vintage sewing machine that is adorable and amazing and was cheap and came with so many fun feet and cams to tinker with. I bought it from an art student who was very cute and told me all about the machine's exciting past life. I figured out how to take it apart, oil it, clean it, and used the big old fashioned buttonholer. This makes my heart race, you have no idea. I love its old nasty engine smell. I'm sewing the wool jacket entirely on this baby. The buttonholes make me nervous.

I can't decide if her name is Kendrick or Maude.

I've also been painting again. I'm working on 2 mixed media pieces that are slowly coming along. One is pretty large. About 2'x5'.

These pictures are dark and terrible, but I'm posting them anyway. Will not let details halt me!
Here's the other one. It's been a long road with this thing, but it's starting to take shape.

I go back and forth between between loving and hating them both, but I'm nearing the finish and the love is overshadowing the hate. I can see where both of them are taking me. I fear losing my focus before I get a chance to get back to them, but that energy is what keeps me going. It's all about the process of making them. I don't expect anyone to think they are beautiful. They are a conversation within my own head, taking place in the paint. I get completely consumed, so I am hesitant to begin them unless I have a couple of uninterrupted hours. Of course, I don't get that opportunity often enough.

A couple weeks ago I started another online class. It's about using the planes of the face to paint portraits using watercolors, acrylic washes, and gesso.  Other than the occasional dabble with my kids, I haven't painted with watercolors since high school. I never liked it all that much. It seemed so fussy. Silly me. I am loving them now! And it's all the haphazard bleeding and fuzzing that is the best part.

Here is my first watercolor in a million years.

Here is my second. She isn't done yet. However, I am attempting to be more prolific and not try so hard to perfect each piece. I'll share at least a few more of these portraits, as I haven't tried the acrylic wash techniques yet.