I got into painting briefly, about four or five years ago. It was educational. I have many sub-par paintings in my closet to show for it.
This one’s not too bad though, probably because it’s mostly in black and white. Also because it’s a reproduction of a famous photo. I always do a better job when I’m stealing another’s work!
Tonsil painting was a really remedy at one time. If you got a sore throat your parents painted your tonsils with Merthiolate, a disinfectant which has fallen out of favor due to containing toxic mercury. Oh, where have the good old days gone?
This picture is horrible, but for some reason I hate it less than the last one. I think it really captures the feeling of being sick and having to resort to painting your tonsils with heavy metals.
I went outside into the courtyard at work to do some nice quiet pencil drawing, to regain confidence. My whole creative life is just one long interrupted battle with perfectionism. Why this should be, I don’t know. We’ll save that subject for a million whiny poems. But drawing in pencil is always easy, and a nice reminder that I can indeed draw.
It was very windy. My hair kept fluffing into my face. Normally I’d stick a pencil in there to hold it out of the way but, well, I was using it to draw. Minimalism has its pros and cons.
Just when the drawing started to come together and I started to sink into the Zone…
CLANG!!!!
I nearly jumped out of my skin. A large empty metal trash can, the classic kind that I can’t believe people still make and use anymore, fell over right in front of me. The lid blew off and the bag, being empty, wind-socked out.
I decided to do the responsible thing and put it back. I was the only one in the courtyard, and who knows where that lid could blow. So I walked the trash can to a good snug corner and tried to put the lid on it. Had some trouble. The bag was so fluffed out and would not un-fluff. I eventually just gave up and forced the lid over the bag. It was at this point that I started to giggle.
(I know I just said I was a perfectionist. I vacillate back and forth between “not good enough” and “hell with it.” Guess which this doodle was.)
Slightly discombobulated, I sat back down to draw. WhoooOOOoOOOsh, said the wind. Pbptpbptpbt, said I with a mouthful of hair. The trash can remained firmly ensconced in its new corner, and said very little.
Behind me there was a loud, loud, gunshot CRACK.
THE FUCKING TREE WAS FALLING APART.
So it wasn’t the whole tree but it sure sounded like it. The drawing is more or less to scale. The dialog is also accurate. It might not have hurt me a whole lot if it landed, but oh my bajeezus. That scared me good.
So… something didn’t want me to draw today. I went back inside where the angry gods couldn’t attack me anymore!
HAPPY EASTER YOU SONS A BITCHES! May God and nature smile kindly upon you and not send vengeful winds your way.
soft, white, glitter cushioned
suspended in chill
bunnies, birds, even trees huddle
keeping their tiny inner fires lit.
life is
hush.
as the air falls still
the stars shine sharper.
unalive, eternal outsiders,
the only things not muted
by the passing of a snowstorm.
Allow me to lessen the impact of the poem with kiddie art, haha. I’m trying to learn how to do digital art now. This is one of my first efforts. Brushes are fun.
An icy little wind devil
kicks up the air in my cube
leans against my left shoulder to read what I write
blows on my soup
peeks under my blanket
keeps making grabs for my toes.
The office AC has summoned him.
Only he who has been granted
the power of the thermostat
can send him back to the ninth circle
from whence he came.
Fresh Hell 