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.
Tag: mind
She is beautiful
I love how she turned out. The next podcast will break it all down. Thank you for being kiddos / galaers.
PF 747
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.
Painter Files podcast ep 20
I always find my words in these podcasts. I’m so quiet in a lot of life. I love to paint in my head rather than slow down and be a part of everything. I must look crazy to most people but it makes me happy. I figure the idea is to find what makes you so happy.
I hope this finds you well and the photos are from this week in my studio. I loved this week’s end.
Painter Files Podcast ep 19 (The day in the woods)
Paint, medicate …sleep…E dificil pra caramba
Making underwater
My coffee cup feels empty. Like nothing, I take in fills and warms. This splif is a doorway to the empty. I am a foul on its songs. I dance slowly and then vibrates my eyes to sleep when it makes my mind dance to fast. The days are on rollerskates. The moon runs from me and the sun hides in the wind chill. The painter is a game of death. I make with the ashes of things that once had formed to make things that get to be formed. A recycler of existence. Ash to Ash and ink to paint.
Liquid fire in a coffee cup to burn questioning butterflies out of my belly. Standing as music booms into my ears into my bones and so the fear is danced out all over the canvas for another night. That cold creamy moon wars with me.
Painter Files Podcast ep 18
“The Universe giving birth” painting.
In this podcast: my fun painter madness comes to a lovely and polite podcast (I hope), our art adventures, strange but helpful books, trying to be a better person to my self, feeling proud and hopeful. Plus: all the stuff I’ve been doing lately…like painting and self-help work.Â
Things I’m dig
∆ Comics
∆ Yoga in the morning or tea
∆ Frannerd videos
∆ Started to listen to again Celia Cruz
∆ Thinking about all the great advice I have been given this week
On my reading/watch list:
Side Hustle (from idea to income in 27 days)
Little Boxes on Netflix
zzzz….
falling into that moment when the world goes to sleep and the cat and I visit the land of smirks. This cold air is a kiss from every soul that ever existed beyond the grasp of anything else that ever walked before 3:30 AM. It’s fun and yet it has this quality that reminds me of the first time I opened my eyes to the ocean underwater and saw the other side of the world.
Booklights and leather bound sketchbooks whisper the secrets of the last people awake at these hours. These earbuds talk to me about history and tones and notes by the greater artist than I.
I’m just wondering if the stars look up and see us?
jaws_blake 