Painted sometime at the end of February 2017.
I. for incomplete.
I can’t remember anymore, when I painted this piece. I hadn’t documented it or written about it at the time because I didn’t think it was finished. Really, I didn’t like how it looked so I wanted to count it as “incomplete”, telling myself I would return to it soon to “fix it”. Hilarious how easily I fall back into the same patterns and habits. The entire point of this project was to not judge, and to accept and even more, appreciate whatever it was I created. And here I was, going right back into the judgment mode – deciding that as long as it was incomplete, and as long as I didn’t write about it or give it a title, it somehow didn’t exist. If I didn’t have a name, does that mean I wouldn’t exist? Does my mere acknowledgement of something give it life? How egotistical, arrogant. Well, I turned back to it today, after a couple of weeks of it sitting there on my desk, waiting for me to come back and “fix it” and I kind of like it! In my head it looked completely different, it was a bright, orange blast of fire, like a meteor of some sort. I can’t remember what prompted this anymore but maybe it doesn’t matter.
What does matter now, is now. My thoughts and feelings about it now. Everything in the past doesn’t matter anymore, well it does matter. But it’s no longer relevant.
A lot happened over the last few weeks, emotionally, and I could feel myself, my creative self sort of shutting down. I couldn’t bring myself to paint, I didn’t even really want to. I became a bit more erratic in my meditations, and I also started drinking a little bit. A drink here and there. Alcohol will always be my downfall. I take breaks from it and thrive, and then I hope I can incorporate it back into my life in a healthy way but I don’t think that’s possible. As much as I love the taste of a good scotch or a really hoppy ale, this may be another one of those steps I take towards “adulthood” and “responsibility”. Ah, fuck. I hate adulthood and I’ve fought it for as long as I can remember and even as I continue fighting it, I watch myself from the sidelines, slowly descending down into that same pit where I’ve watched friends and family sink into. Maybe it’s not so bad down there? I mean, if everyone else I know is there, even if I actually hate the party itself, I might still have a good time given the company.
*Note: I feel a need to mention that I titled these after the fact. And in most of the cases, I looked at the painting and wrote down whatever came to mind, even before re-reading the post to see what it was all about. I guess my brain still remembers on some level what each painting was all about because many of the titles that popped into my head really fit the sentiment of the post. So I guess all that shows is that I maybe know myself somewhat. That’s kind of cool.