Working on those button earrings got me thinking about all the cool stuff I got to do as a kid, so I thought that I would wake up this morning and make some art to see if my year of crafting had improved me any. turns out, it’s hasn’t. My art is still absolute crap. I might have the eyes and brain of an artist, but somewhere from my lobes to my fingers there is a remarkable disconnect. It’s almost as if the harder I work on a piece of art the worse it gets.
I had thought that I would make a tiny masterpiece and display it here on my blog for all of the world to see, but as it turns out I feel like I really like the paper bag I used to dab my brushes dry, than I do the actual painting I was attempting to make. It looks more like a wildflower than anything I managed to put down on canvas. It just looks totally wild and freeform and beautiful. My mother would be proud and politely tell me that they’re both equally beautiful, but she’d keep the paper bag and probably tell all of her friends that the painting was my nieces first foray into watercolors.
I understand what my mother sees in painting. I mean, not entirely, as I tend to hate what I create, get frustrated and then completely abandon it. I do, however, understand the need for cathartic outlet through small controlled movement and the use of colors. Feeling blue? Great, paint an ocean. You don’t have to be good at art, because it’s all subjective, you just have to do it. I can’t tell if that makes it the coolest or lamest pass time ever, but I like to partake when I can.
Lots of Love,