The next installment in the great Correspondence Collaboration Extravonanza:
Postcard 8, from me to you.
Decided to sit down yesterday and finally finish the drawing that took me two weeks to think of, only to find that I hated it. It was in the same vein as my Pulp photos (and the guest post I mentioned in the not too distant past), and while I was excited when I started, I spent most of the morning getting madder and madder. At everything: the drawing, the color, the concept- God knows I love ‘clever’ art, but this just felt too forced.
Hm, pencil looking overworked. And also stupid. Light washes? AH! NO! Take it back, maybe some blackblack around the eyes and- NO! quick, make it messy? Like on purpose?? WHY??? WHY DO YOU HATE ME?!
Hey, this soup’s okay, but a little bland. Maybe I should add a little salt. Maybe a little more? Just a leedle more? Damn, too much. I’ll just add more liquid. Oh, now it’s bland again. I’ll just add the teenyweenytinymeenyminymoeiest pinch of salt….G’dammittosalty.
Here’s the thing about art, though- I’m not getting paid, in fame or legal tender, and if I make a less than perfect/clever/significant object, I still get to keep all my fingers. I personally don’t believe in art without hard work, but if all element of fun is gone from the making, how fun can the looking be?
So that’s what this is: The better part of a day spent listening to a book on tape, and sewing (because I felt like some muthafuckin needle-craft) an image from an old biology book I’ve held onto for years (waiting for the ‘right’ time to use it) onto a plain piece of paper. Master piece? No. But it felt good.
detail. (what is it about thread-gore that's more disturbing than real-gore? there's something there.)
*Maybe you’ve had a similar experience? Tell us about it in the comments. We can comiserate then later french braid each other’s hair and sing into our hairbrushes.