Art is a lot like peeing your pants… everyone can see it but only you get the warm sensation that it brings.
In my opinion, there is no other way to describe the artistic process more accurately. It’s been several years since I’ve picked up a pen tablet, let alone an actual brush, but I’ve found myself once again heeding the siren’s blood thirsty call. This has been the longest hiatus from painting and drawing I have ever taken. In many ways, I feel like a deadbeat dad… a father who left his family behind for a debaucherous life filled with drugs, alcohol and loose women. Ok, maybe not that bad but pretty fucking shameful either way.
When I talk about art, it’s not without a slight tinge of regret. Art was my first love. Truly deeply madly head over heels kinda love. I was late for my first day of kindergarten because I wouldn’t stop drawing. As an adolescent, I remember being barely functional in the mornings on my way to school because I had stayed up the night before sketching away. When my family fought, I went to my bedroom and painted. As a young adult barely scraping by, it was the thing I did to keep me entertained and focused. Art has always been there for me which I guess is why I often take it for granted. It’s like an unappreciated girlfriend that loves you no matter how bad you screw up. That’s no way to treat a lady.
I’d like to say I’ve changed and that it won’t happen again but hey, I don’t have all the answers. Sure we had some rough patches, but our time together wasn’t all bad.
Right now it’s 2am and I’m gonna spend some time getting reacquainted. Hey there gorgeous. Remember me?