Sunday, October 12, 2003

Yesterday evening, Edward and I went to Hobby Lobby. This week only, 3 tubes of Acrylic Paints for $1. --How awesome is that? I got 29 tubes of paint, and a bottle of brush cleaner for $10. I also got two canvases. One is 12 x 16, and the other is 14 x 18. My grand total: $22.48. I got one of almost every color that I'll ever need. And the only reason I didn't get more is because some of them were out of stock. I am going to have to go there more often if I'm going to keep up with this painting thing. I'm not really sure how to describe my painting. My style...any of my pieces.

Edward said that they (my paintings) are gothic. "They're very dark. Always dark blues and reds. Nothing too bright." Well, honestly, that's very true. I don't have very bright paintings. I preffer dark colors in general, just not in refference to painting. Bright colors bother me. Bright and happy people bother me as well. For some reason I just find everything associated with the term "bright" to be annoying. I have one piece that was very small. It's maybe 3 x 2. It's a whitish-silver Calla Lily on a black background with a dark silvery blue curtain to one side. One piece ago I had the silloutte of black mountains against a dark red sky. Currently, my piece is on the 12 x 16 that I purchased yesterday. Dark metalic blue sky, with hints of purple, a silver moon, and a dark hunter green ground. In the foreground there is a big black tree with little red drops hanging off it. There are two smaller trees in the background in chocolate brown. I don't have the other trees done yet. There needs to be more trees...they need to be darker....just a black with a hint of brown. Then there's clouds. The clouds haven't been done yet. Nor have the rest of the trees. I was hoping to get the rest of it done tonight, but currently Edward and I are at Jeremy's house because he has an english paper to write for tomorrow, and if he's at the house he won't be able to concentrate.

But as for me? I'm sitting here on Jeremy's black box of doom, trying to think about my art work. I don't understand it. I don't know if it's good, or if it's bad. I don't know what to think about my style. I look at my paintings and I feel that they are dark, morbid, abstract and surreal yet with a hint of realisim and recognizability to them. Is this good or is this bad? I really don't know. What really matters to me is that I find painting to be theraputic. It's very relaxing. It's a good way for me to cope with stress.

Of course my painting, my artwork, my poetry, and every other creative outlet that I have used, reflects what's going on in my subconsious. It reflects a part of me. Which is one reason that I might have a hard time displaying any of my artwork. I like my art for the most part, and I think that a lot of people would. However, whenever I am considering what it would be like to have art displayed in a gallery, or to be selling art, I always come back to the fact that I always feel like I have put too much of myself into a piece. That by displaying it, and letting everybody look at my work, they are looking at a part of me. I actually feel that to be the truth. They are looking at a part of me. But someday, I will do the painting that will be incredible and could change an artists career, but I couldn't display it, nor could I sell it, because I would have put too much of myself into it. In all honesty, that fact scares me to a slight degree because I don't like the idea of people knowing too much about me, or seeing into my soul. --Which is one of the reasons that I would much rather give my art away to people that I view worthy of knowing that part of me.

As for my paintings, it's just an abstract way of putting down a subconsious thought. A lot of why I paint has to do with the fact that I do it for me. I don't paint for Edward, or for my grandfather, or for anybody else. I paint for me. In addition to needing a creative outlet, I feel that it is nessicary for me to do if I am going to understand myself completely. What comes out on the canvas is a part of me that I would never know, or see, if I didn't paint. As odd as it may sound, I believe that if I like painting, and if I am ever going to know myself completely, I need to do it. I feel compelled to do it. As if it's something that is nessicary for my very existance.

Current Mood: tired