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I got the awesomest fucking book today. It's something like 200 pages of 1 inch portraits of people. Making faces. It is the best resource I have ever seen for human expressions. I AM ALL OVER THAT SHIT.
Man, my art's been giving me the run around as of late. I am not happy with it at all . . . I think I'm at one of the those points where the Circle of Life renews itself, and by Circle of Life I mean Circle of Artistic Eurekas Followed By Long Slide into Frustration and Despair. I believe I am approaching an ah-HA moment, or at least hope so. I feel like I need to pick up my skecthbook and do some life drawing again, but that requires me setting aside time to wander and draw. This is harder than it sounds. I'm still trying to finish cleaning my room.
Time is one of those things that I have such a bizzare relationship with as of late. I keep examining it, and in turn find it looking back at me curiously, as if I shined a flashlight under the couch and found all the the dustbunnies staring back. "What?" Time asks, blinking. "I'm just following your lead." At which point, bewildered, I take a look at the ri-cock-ulous amount of stuff I am trying to do all of the time and berating myself for not finishing and pushing myself harder to get done. Then I sigh, and facepalm, and ruefully acknowledge the fact that my life only seems like it's speeding up because I am.
This usually just leads to crankiness, because I have NO IDEA how to slow down.
That's one facet of my intimate partneship with time. The other has a lot more to do with the invetiable craushing force of the future bearing down on me, ready to suck all happiness and life from my weakening form and leaving my a dried up old Adult. Usually, it partners with the Job Market to reduce me to fits.
I miss being 8. :(
Man, my art's been giving me the run around as of late. I am not happy with it at all . . . I think I'm at one of the those points where the Circle of Life renews itself, and by Circle of Life I mean Circle of Artistic Eurekas Followed By Long Slide into Frustration and Despair. I believe I am approaching an ah-HA moment, or at least hope so. I feel like I need to pick up my skecthbook and do some life drawing again, but that requires me setting aside time to wander and draw. This is harder than it sounds. I'm still trying to finish cleaning my room.
Time is one of those things that I have such a bizzare relationship with as of late. I keep examining it, and in turn find it looking back at me curiously, as if I shined a flashlight under the couch and found all the the dustbunnies staring back. "What?" Time asks, blinking. "I'm just following your lead." At which point, bewildered, I take a look at the ri-cock-ulous amount of stuff I am trying to do all of the time and berating myself for not finishing and pushing myself harder to get done. Then I sigh, and facepalm, and ruefully acknowledge the fact that my life only seems like it's speeding up because I am.
This usually just leads to crankiness, because I have NO IDEA how to slow down.
That's one facet of my intimate partneship with time. The other has a lot more to do with the invetiable craushing force of the future bearing down on me, ready to suck all happiness and life from my weakening form and leaving my a dried up old Adult. Usually, it partners with the Job Market to reduce me to fits.
I miss being 8. :(
