...
Its been a long time...I'm not quite sure what to say. I read my ramblings for the past 2 years and sit a bit disappointed by them. I will not delete them because they are a direct reflection of my state of mind during that time and should be learned from. I realized how I failed to post my most recent work and I will start doing so as soon as I am satisfied with it. A lot of things have changed. Grad school is over...the monotony of four years of service and labor is over...a new beginning some may say.
...maybe...
New work, but no promises on anything new or exciting. instead of rambling in words I will try to do more on paper and canvas in the form of visual stimulation.
My state of mind will be depicted through images..
Conflicted
I have realized that graduate school is a series of relationships built up and torn down. In the very beginning we are searching for those who are compatible, or similar to ourselves. And once those individuals are located we hold on to that small network hoping that these forced forged relationships will be valuable in the end. Although, this year is over I feel like I have not met anyone who is similar to myself.
I wonder if it is because I was once an athlete, and part of me does not feel comfortable or akin to the others.
This "otherness", is something I have not yet figured out, and this internal conflict does not allow me to accept myself as both former athlete and now artist.
Which came first the athlete or the artist?
The first time I remember drawing and thinking creatively was in the Fall of 1988. A bookshelf stood in a dark corner of a room illuminated by a solitary window. Outside that pane of glass were the droplets of an evening rain. Children's books, encyclopedias, short stories, and dictionaries supported the shelves. Needless to say my normal routine was interrupted by the weather. Because of the low intensity of the light, the white walls appeared grey with a tint of blue. The bright colored books and exciting illustrations erased the gloom of the outside. Hours passed, and papers that were originally blank were fortunate enough to receive a sketch, a tracing, a mistake.
Years later, when my goals were ten feet high and illusions of grandeur clouded every thought. The scent of fresh leather and the squeak of the hardwood under rubber soles. Summer mornings and evenings were filled with the intensity and excitement of my comrades and I. Back then my work was double, but the payoff was priceless. As we strung together a series of first our accomplishments became recognized. As goals were easily reached with one leap and clasped with ten fingers, it was then, we realized that we had to aim higher.
Colour
Note one thing well: you must think through colour, have imagination in it. If you don't have imagination, your colour will never be beautiful. Colour must be thought, imagined, dreamed...
Gustave Moreau
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