Yummy

Charcoal pencil, 4B pencil, metallic copper paint.

Just been to the art supplies shop :) What do I do when I borrow money off my friend? I go and spend 30 bucks at Westart :)

Why, when these things make my mouth water and always have, has it taken so long for me to begin playing with them? It makes me sad in some ways, you know? Sad that I have allowed the loudest voices, the ones that caused the most hurt, to silence me in this way. But hands silenced do not need to stay that way, as dangerous and as vulnerablefying it is to begin to move them, to dance with them, to say what I want to say, words that are mine, swimming inside forever, waiting to be birthed via a medium other than language.

It feels like some kind of wonderful, to begin to speak in this way, however falteringly. I look at my table, and there is something I have shaped with my own hands, and it is rough as guts and I love it. I have a mask hanging on my wall that I have shaped with my own hands, and it is rough as guts and I love it. I love to allow myself to make bad art. Does anyone understand, really, what a grace it is to be able to make bad art?

(Not of course that I think those pieces are bad. On the contrary, I think the technique requires much work, but I think the concepts are totally shit hot. Even if I do say so myself ;)

I do blather on about messing around with bits of paper and paint and clay a lot. It just feels so amazing to be doing this at all, you know? It is something I am still coming to terms with, after supressing myself for 25 years. Twenty five years! A big fat opinionated loudmouth, too scared to draw and to paint. But now. Now, this is for me, entirely for me. Not to prove myself to anybody else, none of those irritating reasons that so often drive us. Not for the sole reason but that I desire to do it. That's enough. Sometimes it's even more than enough. I am rich. Do you understand?