2006-08-01
AEP, again.
Extended hours in the artroom have convinced me that this mind of mine, however flighty, can still be easily suckered into one-trackness. (Now, only if i could guide this into Math..)
About Art (you were warned)
There is absolutely nothing like visual art to remind me how inconsequential and irrelevant words can be, despite my obvious bias to the latter. I suspect sometimes I keep going back to Visual Art just to keep my affair with words in check.
In my previous accounts of Artroom Nights, I've always conveniently left out how the rooms are very regularly punctuated with distraught exclamations of how much I hate art (and synonymously, painting). (And I don't profess to be the sole contributor to this atmosphere, although, admittedly, the main one.) My short attention span (my blogging is clear evidence) is infamous, and I suspect I'm actually spending more time bemoaning than actually painting.
And I don't just cry about the torturous painting. I also shriek at the ugliness of my work, wail at my pleabian skills, moan at the fuss and mess, and then afterwards, I go home and pen pages and pages of love.
Don't ever trust any description I churn out about Art, don't ever believe any phrase I utter in attempt to contain my feelings for Art, love, hate or otherwise.
Because the truth is, it's a feeling, and that's the way it needs to stay.
nothing ever happens at 6:37 p.m.