"I think I want to be miserable." I spoke to myself in the mirror, the hand streaks in the steam reflecting me back in pieces. A perfect metaphor in the morning. "I'm at my happiest when I'm miserable. It gives me something to work towards." And how I love my work!
Well, at least when I'm doing it. After the work is done it holds no interest; it's done, over. I wonder if other artists feel like that? Engrossed in their work, passionate, mind racing, time non-existent, it's the moment! Living in the moment the world stops, the outside doesn't exist, all that matters is the canvas and the art created upon it.
My most recent canvas, my latest 'piece', was in the tub. She was almost done bleeding and I was certainly done with her. It had taken me hours, maybe days, I'm not sure, and several exacto blades, but her back was now a perfect reproduction of a Celtic knot from a postcard I bought in Boston.
I'm pretty sure she was Irish (she did have red hair), so I hope it's authentic. And really, even if it's not (knot! ha!) it's still beautiful. Though it's a shame to throw away such a pretty picture I don't have enough freezer space to keep it. Ah well, I'll admire it until it fades. Or at least until it starts to smell.
And then, back to work! I saw the most beautiful bit of calligraphy this morning. I think it was Italian...
M. PotPie
