I obsess over books, stories... the idea of something solid... What does that even mean.. Solid. I'm on this never ending journey to find something solid, in a world full of liquid moments, and electrical shocks. Sudoku.. that's a solid. Judge all you want, but I pour myself into those silly number puzzles, cuz it's real. There is a certain way it must be finished, and nothing else will get you across the goal line. So I find a book that will suck me in... Where I can just zone out this world and enter another. Probably the best thing I know how to do. All of me. Ha. Me.
I love the way words look.. (sound is another story) I have The First Five by Henry Rollins with SO many page marks, of passages and lines, and quotes that I just NEED to make some art to. If not having the words on the painting.. but just being inspired by them...
The above pictures are collected from all over, fuck sources right now. I don't care.. but each has a different font, emotion, story to it... There is a connection to each one from all of me.
It's been about a month since the last time I really painted anything... and there is that feeling that I'm used to, from inside out. It's crawling up and out and I really need to get to work on something. I would really go back to being crazy with out art. heh. Best medication on the planet for someone like me. Or just me. Ha. Me.
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