Little Littles of muchness

Taste like poison, deep and rich. The dark matter matters as the only air I feel is the fan on my face. The skies little kisses splashing on praying eyes. Avalon is a dream and we are all but dreamers. Fire crawling up my temples and no end in sight. The feet roll up inside the welcome mat as the covers buried the man to young to remember his passwords to the WIFI. His sleep will take all his secrets until morning. No one soul is everything and no one soul is nothing.

A kingdom of paper plates. A jungle of unknown wealth jumbled in red, green, yellow and blue holiday lights. Forgotten in the dreams of liquid lucid lopsided lovers of all things dreams.

Bury me down by the river so as the Earth eats me I feed the children with the fruits of Summer. It’s all a thumbprint on a glass spiderweb.

Remember to forget the things that give you pain and eat the things that bring you your reflections of you feels. They become parts of pieces of all the little littles that inspire you.

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The places we go

 

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.

Happy 2018 kiddos

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

Wed the sleep

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

 

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.

She is beautiful

I love how she turned out. The next podcast will break it all down. Thank you for being kiddos / galaers.IMG_4378

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Webs weaving into memories of paint and crows. All the times in my life seem to know mixing of the paints in muscle memory like when I would make cookies with my mom as a kid. It lives in my mind in a third person ways. I see this little big-haired curly kid sitting on a tiny chair in a sky blue kitchen mixing chocolate chips into a red plastic bowl. I burned my fingers on an old stove and learned that Winter that I could paint with watercolors at age 4. Much of me found the peace of my mind in the soft paper soaked in water.

 

Painter Files Podcast ep 21

His name was/is Glenn Arthur.

Busy making

I try to practice my craft everyday.