I had been imagining everyone in their own little suffering sacks, tied away, unable to escape or really connect with anyone.
I imagined myself like that...in a Bell Jar of sorts...but made of a thinner substance...and more smothering...
I have my entire life drawn in black bound sketchbooks and lined up on the shelf.
Now, I find some of the pictures from when i was sicker very painful to look at...but they were all true, nonetheless.
So funny, several times throughout my life I had well meaning teachers suggest that art was not my thing, not my gift, and maybe i should focus on something else. and maybe i should have but I just couldn't stop. I tried.
and then later well meaning professors suggested I make art that was less morbid. But, really..i tried...i just felt like I had to tell the truth.
and the truth seemed kinda morbid.
I had really sort of made my own little world of pictures and hunger and hurt
and I gazed out...really terrified and confused...and sick.
But I mean, i never really gave up i guess. Or i wouldnt be here.
and that is good, right.? right. okay.
2 comments:
Absolutely right. Art teachers, bah! You know what they say, "Those that cannot do teach." True more often than not in my experience. I often think their only thought is judging people by their individual standards of what they think could make money as art. Not the way to judge someone's work as far as i am concerned. Rather soulless in my opinion. Ah, anyway. F**k 'em. You're still going and I love what your work has become. Thanks for sharing.
do you have a PMS suffering sack -- that's where i am. the world seems BLEAK, indeed.
i get so much from your pictures.
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