Me's a dumb'un.
So here I sit, victim? of insomnia. It's a beautiful morning with the light of the sun peaking over the trees onto Papa's Pond. Odd, this is how I expect my parties to end, champagne breakfast at sunrise, but it never seems to work out that way.
It's been a good long night and it's going to be a short sleep and a frightfully long hard day, but that's the joy of life. I've radically screwed up my schedule over the last two weeks and I wonder if there is any possibility of getting it back in line. Not so long as I drink caffeine. I had a coke, I'll be awake for hours on end.
I should be working 12 hour days and it's turning out to be more like 3 hours days. It's hard to make a living like that.
I'm questioning what I'm doing now. I gave up any other ambitions to have my own business doing what I love, what is to me, art. And that alone is answer to everyone who says to me, you have an MBA and you are a carpenter? Yes, I do have an MBA and execudroid work sucks. I create space, I build dreams.
But the thing is, I find myself placed in the same category as used car salesmen. Everyone thinks I am out to fuck them. That's just odd to me, over the last two years, my partner and I have been lost in the details, she more so than I. I remember coming into a bathroom we were remodeling and she was touching up the walls with a small portrait brush she had brought from home.
She had to take up full time work with a mobile home factory to have steady insurance for her daughter. It's just sick. I've actually laid on the floor to watch her hand texture a ceiling and it was far more interesting than watching the clouds, I could see far more in what she was doing, giants, fairies, monsters, angels. Such artwork wasted on storm repair to section 8 housing.
Living space as art is not even recognized.
But who pays for such time? Even if you could, would you? Would you pay the $8,000 or $10,000 to have a bathroom in your house that would just WOW anyone who came into it? We've done exactly one $10,000 bathroom in three years and we probably lost money on that one. The shower alone cost us $2,000 and it amounted to a giant sex toy. That's the one she touched up the walls with a portrait brush.
So, here I sit, with an artist as a partner and artists at my disposal, I am an artist at with wood trim and my partner Viva is an artist with texture, but I also have Bethany and Princess as artists painting. Along with Mac there's not a commission on Earth I'd refuse. But we are just not there and I honestly have no idea how to get there. Living space as art is not even recognized as art.
So, I've abandoned being some sort of wage slave to have my own business and I've ended up absolutely hating it because instead of being viewed as an artist, I am viewed as a used car salesman. That is absolutely true. I have to negotiate prices with everyone, even when I drop prices to the minimum because I just want to do it, or to help out a friend, I'm still treated just like a used car salesman.
Having my own business and having everyone approach me, or react to me in the way they have, to use me in the way they have, has done much to make me the Satanist that I am. So, here I am with the attitude of gig everyone for all I can get. Viva hasn't picked up a six inch knife in over a year, she sprays everything she does. I have no interest, because I 'm expected to match the industrial sameness of any place I work on. Clarence and Sara can testify to may ability to match the sameness of your average dwelling.
So what do I want? Not Lucinda's solid gold shitter, but the place where Princess and Bethany lie on their backs for a week on a scaffold painting angels on the ceiling. Where Mac and I spend lot of time getting the trim work just right to frame the art on the ceiling and walls. Where Viva actually has to struggle to make the texture of the walls match the mood of the room. Where the whole, from the artwork on the ceiling to the tile mosaic on the floor of the bathroom is one whole integrated work of art.
Life is a canvas, and I am still painting little insignificant black and white squares on it.
It's been a good long night and it's going to be a short sleep and a frightfully long hard day, but that's the joy of life. I've radically screwed up my schedule over the last two weeks and I wonder if there is any possibility of getting it back in line. Not so long as I drink caffeine. I had a coke, I'll be awake for hours on end.
I should be working 12 hour days and it's turning out to be more like 3 hours days. It's hard to make a living like that.
I'm questioning what I'm doing now. I gave up any other ambitions to have my own business doing what I love, what is to me, art. And that alone is answer to everyone who says to me, you have an MBA and you are a carpenter? Yes, I do have an MBA and execudroid work sucks. I create space, I build dreams.
But the thing is, I find myself placed in the same category as used car salesmen. Everyone thinks I am out to fuck them. That's just odd to me, over the last two years, my partner and I have been lost in the details, she more so than I. I remember coming into a bathroom we were remodeling and she was touching up the walls with a small portrait brush she had brought from home.
She had to take up full time work with a mobile home factory to have steady insurance for her daughter. It's just sick. I've actually laid on the floor to watch her hand texture a ceiling and it was far more interesting than watching the clouds, I could see far more in what she was doing, giants, fairies, monsters, angels. Such artwork wasted on storm repair to section 8 housing.
Living space as art is not even recognized.
But who pays for such time? Even if you could, would you? Would you pay the $8,000 or $10,000 to have a bathroom in your house that would just WOW anyone who came into it? We've done exactly one $10,000 bathroom in three years and we probably lost money on that one. The shower alone cost us $2,000 and it amounted to a giant sex toy. That's the one she touched up the walls with a portrait brush.
So, here I sit, with an artist as a partner and artists at my disposal, I am an artist at with wood trim and my partner Viva is an artist with texture, but I also have Bethany and Princess as artists painting. Along with Mac there's not a commission on Earth I'd refuse. But we are just not there and I honestly have no idea how to get there. Living space as art is not even recognized as art.
So, I've abandoned being some sort of wage slave to have my own business and I've ended up absolutely hating it because instead of being viewed as an artist, I am viewed as a used car salesman. That is absolutely true. I have to negotiate prices with everyone, even when I drop prices to the minimum because I just want to do it, or to help out a friend, I'm still treated just like a used car salesman.
Having my own business and having everyone approach me, or react to me in the way they have, to use me in the way they have, has done much to make me the Satanist that I am. So, here I am with the attitude of gig everyone for all I can get. Viva hasn't picked up a six inch knife in over a year, she sprays everything she does. I have no interest, because I 'm expected to match the industrial sameness of any place I work on. Clarence and Sara can testify to may ability to match the sameness of your average dwelling.
So what do I want? Not Lucinda's solid gold shitter, but the place where Princess and Bethany lie on their backs for a week on a scaffold painting angels on the ceiling. Where Mac and I spend lot of time getting the trim work just right to frame the art on the ceiling and walls. Where Viva actually has to struggle to make the texture of the walls match the mood of the room. Where the whole, from the artwork on the ceiling to the tile mosaic on the floor of the bathroom is one whole integrated work of art.
Life is a canvas, and I am still painting little insignificant black and white squares on it.