Art is lust, coffee is fuel, writing is oxygen and music is spiritual orgasm.
From the time I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I’ve had an interest in the arts. Math, in spite of its relation to music, held absolutely no interest for me. Science was a complete mystery and my teacher was a self-righteous ass, so I learned nothing. Phys Ed was torture hour for a fat kid like me. Art, English and music were the only three subjects I consistently passed in school.
In high school, I took a cartooning class. The art room was conveniently located next to the library, so it became my favorite place to be. After class ended, I could duck into the library and bury myself in between the stacks as I devoured my favorite books over and over again.
I love libraries.
Anyway, we had to create a comic book for our final project. My chosen subject was about a girl who accidentally gets magical paint spilled on her and it dyes her hair blue. She doesn’t realize she’s become a superhero until she accidentally pulls the fridge door off and playfully pushes her friend right through a wall. She doesn’t want to BE a superhero so she’s constantly washing her hair to get the blue dye out. I never finished the story but I assume there would’ve been some Shyamalanian twist revealing that the girl is actually a psycho living in some kind of institution. I was really into Girl, Interrupted. You understand.
In the years since I left school, I’ve played around with art on and off. I was really into anime and manga for awhile so I would pick out my favorite scenes from One Piece or Fairy Tail and sketch the characters. Some of the pieces were pretty good, and some were not. (Most were not.) There’s a certain level of intimidation surrounding me because so many of my friends are incredible artists.
My boyfriend is one of them. I’ve never seen someone with such a handle on proportions, even though he refuses to believe me. His cartooning style is out of this world. He’s always been incredibly encouraging and answers all my “where would her neck be in relation to her chin” questions without the air of a pompous asshole. This is nice.
But I want something new. I’m obsessed with paint. I don’t know styles or techniques and to be honest, I’m not terribly interested in knowing how to do things “properly”. I just like getting lost in the act of smearing paint on a canvas, or placing items to collage, or drawing lines and deciding where the next one’s going to go. It makes my head shut up for awhile and that’s wonderful.
At the same time, I have a major story idea that deserves attention. It’s a big story, bigger than anything I’ve ever written, and it intimidates the hell out of me. I don’t know if I’m able to handle a story like this one, but if I don’t try, then I’ll never know. So I’ve been half-procrastinating, half-researching for about a month now. Maybe longer. Collecting my thoughts and organizing them into something coherent has never been my strong point, but I’m sure I could learn. In the meantime I’ve been reading as many dystopian, post-apocalyptic novels I can get my hands on. Recommendations are welcomed.
Quitting caffeine has drastically helped. By no means will I ever quit drinking coffee — I’ve just switched to evil decaf. Limiting my intake has resulted in a new kind of wakefulness. I feel like I’m seeing things clearly and I’m paying closer attention to the world around me. EVERYTHING is fucking inspiring, even the bad stuff, because it all percolates inside my mind and trickles out in various ways.
Even in music. Dissatisfied with the typical romantic and lovelorn hurt songs I’ve been writing, I’m trying something new. I’m definitely a third-wave feminist and I’m infinitely dissatisfied with the way the world is going and if I don’t channel some of this rage and outrage into something positive then I might just explode my guts all over my apartment. I watched a video about how hot dogs are made and it frightened me entirely. Oh, I’ll still eat street meat, but my brain will gurgle just a little bit as I remember the giant meat-churning machines and the fact that several hundred thousand wieners are manufactured per day and that’s a huge, weird number. One half of the world is starving and the other half is mass-producing tubes of pork-chicken-beef mixture at an alarming rate.
Sometimes it makes my head hurt.
I need an outlet for all this mental noise. I need MANY outlets.
Most of all, I need to go buy art supplies.