Something to be said about fear and fearlessness. They both motivate but in very different ways.
The soul of my brush is fearless but the hands are human. They question the motions. All I can do is giv einto the brush. So many paintings painted up inside me, waiting for a canvas to scream into.
You kind of have to fuck the fear off the hand with paint. I know that sounds insane a little or a lot. Nothing ever gained in my life was because it was given. I walked with wieghts in the water to get here. I fucked up my hands to get here. It just meant more to me than sleep or even madness.
The road to fearless painting is marked on caves inside of scared memories. The passion was and is alwasy there. That why I say “always making”. I make in my sleep , in conversations and even while I eat.
Truth be told; I keep waiting for the perfect moment to write some thing and lost a picture but there are no perfect moments.
I’m seeing Endgame tonight and I’m tired at the start of the day. Fuck!
Why is anything 3 hours long these days? I worry I’ll lose interest 1:30 in. Here is hopping it was worth the wait. I’m more excited about GOT Sunday. Feels weird for me to care about a tv show. I’m mostly a painter and music lover.
I’ve been in the myst of taking a lot of pictures. There is something about being my sorce my own imagines that excites me.
I love this new camera. I picked up a Nikon 3500 with a 18-55mm lens. It’s light and takes great photos. I feel so impowered with her. I named her “menina”. It means girl for those who don’t know.