Art in my hand
There's art in my hands. I can see it. Looking at them is the only time seeing my body pleases me.
Want to paint, but I have no knack. Watercolor is too much of a risk- I am clumsy and my pages tilt, the colors stream. Oil is too certain, and I have never been that.
Today I am going to find pastels. I am going to cover myself and my sketch pad in many colored powders and then fold my expression into an awkward plane. I will float it from the porch and into the landscaping. The sprinklers will dissolve it away, and I think that is fitting.
Why do people keep their work?
Nobody will ever understand it, except you, and the whole reason for setting it down is to get it out.
Wait. That is a lie. I know why people keep their work. I know why and it's exactly why I choose not to.
Have been awake all night. Seven am is a nice time.
I find that insomnia is a very potent muse. Sleep is for the weak! And the uninspired!
Tonight/this morning I've written three songs, recorded them, knocked out two fully produced tracks. Vocals, only, mind, because I have no instruments.
They are pretty fabulous. Totaly different styles on each. One is upbeat and bluesy, reminiscent of Inda. Arie, very simply written. It is white and brown in my head. Another I wrote and heard A Perfect Cirle, saw light blue on a field of black. Another, made me see the same colors that rise most of the time when listening to Muse, red the color of old blood, and an apricot-y pink, swimming linearly on a black background. Love the evolution of the last, from somewhat contrite, to smug and mocking. Fun to sing.
Want to paint, but I have no knack. Watercolor is too much of a risk- I am clumsy and my pages tilt, the colors stream. Oil is too certain, and I have never been that.
Today I am going to find pastels. I am going to cover myself and my sketch pad in many colored powders and then fold my expression into an awkward plane. I will float it from the porch and into the landscaping. The sprinklers will dissolve it away, and I think that is fitting.
Why do people keep their work?
Nobody will ever understand it, except you, and the whole reason for setting it down is to get it out.
Wait. That is a lie. I know why people keep their work. I know why and it's exactly why I choose not to.
Have been awake all night. Seven am is a nice time.
I find that insomnia is a very potent muse. Sleep is for the weak! And the uninspired!
Tonight/this morning I've written three songs, recorded them, knocked out two fully produced tracks. Vocals, only, mind, because I have no instruments.
They are pretty fabulous. Totaly different styles on each. One is upbeat and bluesy, reminiscent of Inda. Arie, very simply written. It is white and brown in my head. Another I wrote and heard A Perfect Cirle, saw light blue on a field of black. Another, made me see the same colors that rise most of the time when listening to Muse, red the color of old blood, and an apricot-y pink, swimming linearly on a black background. Love the evolution of the last, from somewhat contrite, to smug and mocking. Fun to sing.