Category: Painter files

The places we go

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A week of making,

Deep and true and fearful. The honest parts of me know the outcome is no bigger than a grain of sand to the world but I am a grain of sand so it is my world. In search of my next masterpiece and I do not know anything to begin and build a new universe with.

Wishing wells of all the parts that made me grow into the creative heartbeat. Cocoa butter for the tips and tops of feet and elbows to pull me back to the first time I ever lifted a brush as a youth. Whine and beer to remind my self that I can be limitless as I slow and speed up time; traveling on and bending space with colors.

Where ever I go the art is playing in the background; in the corners of my eyes. Forever a trickster to steal me from all other tasks. Making and making and making.

Next stop Painter Files Podcast.

always making

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I died once. It was cold and dark like a pickle jar in the back of a refrigerator. I was living in an old apartment that leched mold from the walls. Sickness grabbed me and wrapped around my heart. Confusion took over my mind. All I had was the paint and a radio to click on and out of the world. I lived alone waiting for my 1000th painting. Death and I had made a pact for inspiration. The matches lived in my fingers to create fire on the stove. A million teapots screamed at 3 in the morning every day. One night my pilot light went out as I slept with the window open and I ran face to face, lips to teeth, hip to hip with Death. I am not much of a person for fear but it took me deep in its arms. We looked at each other in the dark that night as I coughed up half my life at its feet. I pushed the fear off my spin and crawled to the stove as it clicked and turned it off opening all the windows in 20-degree winter wrapped in a blanket and vomited. A few hours later I woke up closed the window turned the shut off behind the stove. It was an insane time.

Never die of hardwood floor for a minute it fucks with your taste buds.

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Happy 2018 kiddos

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This is such an amazing beginng already. I hope you all had a safe and fun New Years.

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Please check out my Patreon. Jawara Blake Patreon

I love you all and you inspire me to keep making in my own style and that means the world to me.

Painter Files Podcast Ep 23

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Wed the sleep

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I don’t know sometimes, how I found my path. It was always mine, I guess. No one gave it to me. I didn’t take it and yet it was maybe my birthright? That word feels weird to me. I have never felt that anything was really mine until my 30’s. The world is the owner and we are but mere space holders in service to it.IMG_5539

 

This art book will be grand. I will make and grow deep in the pages and I want each every one of you to feel the strokes and trace the lines with your eyes. I do this in service to you and my self because we live these hard lives for something warm on the inside.

Painter Files Podcast Ep 22

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a million dots. I want to get a tattoo gun so I can make one million dots on a face in every painting. I want universes around eyes. To work huge is the occupation of the galaxy of details. No one hand makes without deep lacunas of agony in your bones. The silly bits are that the pain is a trophy of all the beauty you give to the art. To be a doner of such bloom is an honor and a gift of pure love.

Polaroids in Black and Blue

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Ran into my favorite toolbox in the quietest loud city I know. Watched the people pull on doors where the lights were off and the ropes were crossed. They looked shocked to see the notes on doors as they crossed in front of more and more construction workers.
Had my tea in my hands married with black pens. The cup was a canvas and when it was full I forced it into the kingdom of trashcans. The last thing I need is more random little littles on wet paper cups in my studio. So much in closets and sketchbooks. The world will never get to see that part f me while I’m alive. There is the him and there is the me. The two are like brothers in the upside down.