The Blues

"Painting is not just an activity, it is a way of life; a painter lives in and through painting. As the materials of painting are not just part of the process by which the work happens, but part of the end-product as well through their transcending this distinction between means and ends, they are the very way this aspect of the painter's being both manifests and realises itself. They are the vehicle through which the painter's life as a painter happens, unfolds itself, realises itself. This manifests itself back through the materials. The realisation of the materials through the painting is the realisation of the painter through them. His potentiality is their potentiality, and their potentiality his. Thus, his being drawn towards certain materials is his being drawn towards a certain potentiality of his own." --Nigel Wentworth, The Phenomenology of Painting

Lately, I have being reading the biographies of many of my favorite artists through the ages.  The parallels in some of their lives, is eerily strange sometimes.  Like Frida Kahlo, my father is of German origin, and also a photographer.  She suffered a life altering motor vehicle accident that left her lamed in her leg and back, like I did.  She is also half Hispanic, like me...she shares alot of personality traits, such as her tendency towards "duality."

So many different artists seem to share similar things...Vincent's literal propensity, like me...Monet's love of the land and family...Renoir's motif of his "girls..." the list can go on and on.

I've been feeling very sluggish lately, and I don't know if I can attribute it strictly to the doldrums of winter, and a form of cabin fever.  I usually get this way around mid-February, where it just seems one cold day blends into the next, and the dirt never leaves the house, from the constant trail of muddy bootprints.  It's enough to me go back to bed and watch an old Bogart movie...quite happily.

The snow, as peaceful as it is on the gentles slopes of the countryside, incites fatigue rather than passion...I feel the constant intrusions into my time more sharply now, as if my skin is raw and the nerves are exposed.  I feel weepy rather than rejoicing when I see the icy landscape.   It's beautiful, but the monotony of winter is getting to me, and I need a change to light a "fire" in my gut.

I've started working on my portrait commission.  I'm in the earliest stages of designing the layout and palette...putting together the mechanics of it.  I will prep and prime the canvas tomorrow, after I get back from NYC.  Today was a waste--I spent the morning languishing in the Dr's office for my yearly appointment and some routine tests...then to the dentist on Thursday, and of course it's Valentine's weekend, and all of M's plans and guests...I can't stand it anymore.  I'm feeling like I literally have to go missing soon to get some quality, uninterrupted time of my own.  I don't mean two or three hours, I'm talking two or three weeks.  The interruptions are destroying my nerves...and not allowing me a free flow of creative thought...this keeps me up at night, and the cycle is maddening.

G went to the hospital today...perhaps her baby is coming.  She feels bad, and I hope it is just her own stresses that is causing her discomfort, and nothing more serious.  D stopped by this afternoon, and said she had quite the little group together for our life drawing sessions on Sunday, unfortunately, the blizzard (and of course Super Bowl for the fellas) sidetracked our session last night, and now, Valentine's day falls on this coming Sunday, and I'm obligated to that too...so, no get together for another 2 weeks....always something, always something.

I dream myself away, my Muse comforts me there.  We work on long projects, and she promises me one day soon, we'll spend some quality time together....until then, stay well beloved.