an invisible heart is distressed see it?-Lorca
float and look up at the way the sun is flowing...like lava onto the floor meeting the legs of my easel and burning it.
convulsions of fire licking up slowly with pace and intent. full intent. only masking my lacking. the intent to burn and turn to ash. I will only gather it. gather it up and mix it with water. turn it into mud. and throw it on the wall. I covered in Red.
Deep and Contrast it begins to sprout legs that shoot out of the greyness like torpedoes. two wooden legs. hungry for creation. walking to the corner where I keep them. the canvases. the empty mouths. The Embryos.
The un-nursed children. The un-tucked in little ones. The abandoned.
so. today. as in many days before. ill try to paint. then I will get frustrated. grab my sketch book and clear out the garbage. wash my hands put on the right tshirt and paint.
will it be chains today? my own hands locking my own hands to a cold stone wall?
I have no love for these works. I think they are mediocre. I feel that that is some kind of treason.
I feel blind when I pick up my paint brushes.....or is just that Im such a coward..I crave love over my own artistic truth?
The twitching hand,like some Medusa, blinds the aching eye of the oil lamp...
-Incantation by Garcia Lorca
Im ok...love and peace to all :)
get outside today
:)
