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Dyke March was yesterday. It was pretty fuckin awesome. i know i've been gone from this journal for so long. the turn of the new year is my most recent memory of these blanks squares, these invisible lines.
i have been delving into myself through the countless canvasses strewn about my room. these past few months have been marked not so much by the things i've been doing but by all the paint stains i find lingering on my skin.
my artwork was up at Dyke March's Art Lounge, thanks to Michelle. it was interesting to see my pieces up on a wall in somewhere other than my own home. it made for great visualization as im thinking about renting this work studio in downtown. ill have a gallery one day im sure of it.
which brings me to a thought ive been struggling with for quite some time now -is art a selfish endeavor to pursue? if there's no message, and i paint because of the fact that my consciousness wishes to mark itself in such a manner, and if im not doing it for the greater good of humanity, is it selfish? is it ego? my desire for legacy?
i've no answers, as it usually goes.
george and i broke up two sundays ago but are still together. last weekend we saw hedwig and the angry inch on stage. amazing.
i read a passage from g. anzaldua's "borderlands/la frontera" and painted over a piece i had done months ago. "there's something compelling about being both male and female."
before deciding to post this i had started flipping through some old entries, saddened and longing for a version of myself that no longer exists, but forcing me to love who i am at this moment. there are only three friends left posting entries on LJ.
at the moment things are good, going well, and though this, THIS, isn't quite the what i had imagined for slipping into the beginning of a new week, something about wearing this particular experience is comfortable on my skin, which is clean for the time being.
good morning, and happy monday.
i have been delving into myself through the countless canvasses strewn about my room. these past few months have been marked not so much by the things i've been doing but by all the paint stains i find lingering on my skin.
my artwork was up at Dyke March's Art Lounge, thanks to Michelle. it was interesting to see my pieces up on a wall in somewhere other than my own home. it made for great visualization as im thinking about renting this work studio in downtown. ill have a gallery one day im sure of it.
which brings me to a thought ive been struggling with for quite some time now -is art a selfish endeavor to pursue? if there's no message, and i paint because of the fact that my consciousness wishes to mark itself in such a manner, and if im not doing it for the greater good of humanity, is it selfish? is it ego? my desire for legacy?
i've no answers, as it usually goes.
george and i broke up two sundays ago but are still together. last weekend we saw hedwig and the angry inch on stage. amazing.
i read a passage from g. anzaldua's "borderlands/la frontera" and painted over a piece i had done months ago. "there's something compelling about being both male and female."
before deciding to post this i had started flipping through some old entries, saddened and longing for a version of myself that no longer exists, but forcing me to love who i am at this moment. there are only three friends left posting entries on LJ.
at the moment things are good, going well, and though this, THIS, isn't quite the what i had imagined for slipping into the beginning of a new week, something about wearing this particular experience is comfortable on my skin, which is clean for the time being.
good morning, and happy monday.