I will not, however, apologize to myself, my wallet or my liver for scoring some more great art at Sketch Tuesday. Jay Howell, Jason Vivona and a Christopher Kardambikis comedic doodle.
(an assassin who prefers a very tiny bow and arrow)
(this is probably as close as I'll ever get to owning a Sylvia Ji piece)
My paintings usually don’t have a deep meaning to them. For the most part, I love taking some of my favorite topics, like Alice in Wonderland or the Macabre and translate them through the beauty of the female form. That’s not to say I haven’t painted some with a message or meaning...of which those usually fell under the times of emotional distress or the confusion of love, heartache or pain. Then all the sudden I become a big weepy vagina and quite literally paint shit like a woman offering her heart in her hand; translation: total literal girly emo dribble.
Through my quest of higher education, I have discovered the joys of funding-or rather-lack there of. Thus, I am aiming pretty high for a scholarship through AOL that would fund a full year of school and then some. Due to this, I decided to challenge myself by working with acrylic paints; I’m not so much a fan…yet. It’s a long slow process that finds me getting sick(literally hacking as I type this) from long hours of painting, lack of sleep, and drunk quicker during the process, than with the quickness and ease I find while I work in my typical medium-Gouache (sounds like gwash). This painting is a huge step out of my comfort zone. So I hope by doing that, I am expanding my horizon of style and technique. I will continue to work on it after submission, as I want to do more but for the sake of the scholarship, I hope that I've put forth a clear and concise message while expressing the beauty of women that I love and my knowledge of colors. I find sometimes that some artist's messages are so convoluted under paint that it puzzles the viewer all together.
(painting starts with this)
(involves a whole lotta this)
Some can’t fathom what emotions the metaphoric human heart can endure. Some build walls around it and some just lay it all out there in open abandonment. In a not too distant world of Mel, in a time not far past, I experienced an amazing opening of my heart. Someone dared to break down the epic battle resistant walls that surrounded my emotional ooey gooey girly puke. Thus I wore my heart openly, the way my art subject wears hers for the world to see. It was amazing, I am thankful; it was the best and worst thing to happen to me. I however, failed to grasp this new openness and see it to fruition...thus my heart now bears a tremendous pain that I still struggle to dull to a mere ache...
This painting is something of an experiment in the emotional band-aid sense as well. I am hoping that by pouring my heart’s pain over this person into this piece, I will gain some inner peace. Much like she is about to preform Seppuku on her life, I am preforming a form of it by gutting myself of this pain.
The walls that were previously knocked down, have been reconstructed with a stronger mortar. I still desire the ability to love and be loved…but for now, the healing needs more time as this person still very much dances through the arteries of my heart.
So to Mei Li and my mother-Happy Birthday.
What else do I do on this holiday? Well, I drink. Mimosa’s in fact. While I am pleasantly stuffed with a well prepared vegetarian brunch for the housemates (by yours truly, thank you very much) and, um, *counts fingers* 1, 2, 3…4 bottles worth of champagne drank before 4pm…I am not only making those said bday calls, I am also reflecting on another family relationship…that of my brother’s and mine.
We may have had a tumultuous relationship growing up, that of a 6year age difference, with the fact that I once may have destroyed his first addition Millennium Falcon toy…or constantly intruded on the privacy of the inner sanctum of his bedroom…or the fact that I may have destroyed one or two of his first addition G.I. Joe action figures with the kung fu grip…How am I still alive you may ask, not suffocated by the mere two hands of my bro? Well, A. a 6’4” anger induced father and B. the brother taking his frustrations out in the form of violent “play” against said younger sister. Trust me, my brother got his revenge one way or another.
But past aside, I have grown to respect my brother’s intelligence, not only being the brain of the family but also the rock of my family togetherness with him later in life, as a great source of opinion and guidance. He recently graduated college, of which I am in awe and greatly proud…and thusly, I have entrusted him with documenting my artwork for “hopeful”(because I don’t think it’s worth selling) future sales and a chance to possibly build a creative name for myself. I know he will give the most straightforward opinion null of fluff, not only of my pieces but also of my future. Frankly, he is the only one allowed to get away with telling me “her face is not proportionate” or “her ear is too low”.
Thank you brother,
For your strides in life are great and your intelligence grows deep
You have provided me the best family love to keep
(me and said brothar)
