rise like woman

dear odyssians,

rode the choppy seas of a certain type of depression that only artists know. watched a movie about real people with real problems. i guess that helped minimize my own issues or at least put them into context. thought i must emphasize that context does not make our issues any less real. the unbearable suffering of others and the incomprehensible depth of those who rally to help them during times of pure hell  did however put a bandage on my bleeding heart. Also, reading your caring comments and encouragement helped too. many of you struggle with the same exact issues and knew exactly what place of sadness I was writing from. its an artists life after all. not easily navigated. impossible to relinquish. meant to be suffered through.

I was asked which true artist painted from a place of happiness. I pose this question to you now…

I went to bed later than i wanted. odie already fast at my feet as usual. and woke up early again, though i expected without early tasks i wouldn’t.  no alarm clock set. no alarm clock needed. after two weeks in the realm of 9-5 im fully programmed to the grid and its unreasonable hours. if getting up early were natural why do early rises drink coffee/amphetamines to do so. the answer is rising that early isnt natural. not even for farmers. only for seniors. and im not there yet.

its strange to have a schedule and responsibilities to answer to that are not my creative whims. there something to be said about freedom+poverty, the artist way. theres something else to be said about imprisonment+wealth, the western way.

freedom + wealth for those not born into both comes only after a struggle from one of the previous states.

either way and in conclusion:

i wake shaken. but not deterred.

love odie mama-

again odie is not involved in this post. but he did help me pick the photo out a few weeks ago. it reminds of rebirth. at 30. very appropriate.



where dreams go

dear odyssians,

im terribly sad at this moment. and perhaps overly tired. stuck in this pattern of questioning

god made me an artist. but he also made it virtually impossible to do my art. i have little confidence in my work. i find it difficult to make time for it. im the worst procrastinator in the universe. i tire easily, im distracted by the slightest thing. i have trouble concentrating. i have trouble working through the painful difficult moments that being an artist means having to struggle through for any success. i must admit im terribly lazy. i dont appreciate my work or my talents. i find it difficult to share. and i cant believe im writing this blog and will soon hit the publish button.

i doubt that anyone will read this.

if theres a place that dreams go to live then there must be a place that dreams go to die. im very afraid that ive found that place where you bury your passions, forget your desires, trample your creativity, chastize your instincts to fly free, supress your spirit, and give in to reality.

im afraid that my real world responsiblity detour will be a permanent slide into the darkest depths of hell. the place that dreams go to die. many peoples dreams end up there. maybe most.

ill still post a happy picture. about where dreams go to live.

i still have hope. perhaps mine will go there too.

signing off without odie’s approval tonight.

i dont want to depress him.