ohclaudine's Diaryland Diary

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pink folds in a bed of ochre

I have such a strong desire to roll around in a bed of acrylic. I need to paint. This is a glorious thing.
overwhelming because I want to work BIG BIG BIG. and I'm so confusede because I dont have brilliant real artists behind me and watching me and critting me. ANd remember when I was hysterical and what should I do what should I do???? I have to do this and my process is slow, but fast.. like a chef on crack, I'll throw anything onto the surface, tonight it was beads. But it has to be left to dry to build up the next level. My uterus hurts but I still have such energy pent up. The basment space sucks but it's a space. I have to work with it, though I was spoiled back down there where I was able to throw shit around and splash my sneakers. The boy next to my studio was so cute.. so so cute he annoyed the shit out of me alot but he was so kind and such a handyman! lent me his powerdrill on any occasion. he was married and I have V so any sort of sexual tension was surely buried under several layers of acrylic and masking tape. surely. he was from the midwest though... and you know.. eh... midwesterners... great painter anyway and I must give him mad props for sporting the Sonic Youth and Godspeedyoublackemporer! Can a girl ask for anything more?

A few years back before I had to face the adult world my words were more free and my brain was wild, thats what it feels like. I hate poetry and I hate words but they seem to be second best while the paint dries in the shitty space in my basement.

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8:35 p.m. - 2005-08-25

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