Seppuku

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.

(too much drink+sloppy painter=paint on face)

and with that, my purring companion says ":p...go to bed"

ahhhh the lazy life

Where have you been? I’ve been fighting the good fight in a galaxy far far away along side other Jedi Masters….ok, so I’ve been, a straight up now tell me, asshole for not writing in two months; but ya know, work and stress and life and blah blah blah, shut the fuck up Mel. Yeah, I know, lame; but honest and for-truly, I’ve got like 4 entries I’m preparing dear readers…all 3 of you.

So while I search the words to paint a visual picture of the following bands: Cold War Kids, We Are Scientists, Kings of Leon and NKOTB-that’s right-NEW KIDS ON THE MUTHA FUCKIN BLOCK BEYOTCHES-DON’T TRIP; I thought I would wax a bit on my history with music and why exactly it moves me the way it does.

So a long long time ago…in the early 80’s I was knee high to me da’s knee; and when I wasn’t grabbing his beers for sips, I was either signing along to he and his buddies ‘jamming’ or somewhere very near by listening. They played covers, mostly I believe, and I say this because I don’t rightfully recall them playing original music. At any rate, due to the cover-nisity (fuck yes, I make up words like forshizzle) of it all, I became quite fond of the classics like: The Beatles, Zep, Mac, Fucking Eagles, and many many others.

I was such a ham that I would dig into those plastic little saucers called, say it with me history class- “albums”, and play things like Pointer Sisters and B52s while dancing around pretending I was either a soulful afro’d black woman or a red headed maven with a bee hive; and yes, I would “perform” for audiences of furniture or Bryer horses when my parents had no time for me.

I use to know how to read music; built chops to play clarinet…John Lennon’s “Imagine” was my first song learned on the piano…so too was Beatles learnt on the guitar. But fuck all if I don’t remember how to do any of that shit now.

At any rate, growing up in a house where the men; pops and bro, would play guitar and me and moms would hum along, gave me an appreciation for the craft. I associate, as most do, music with moods, moments, feelings and situations; thus the stuff moves me, saddens me, lifts me up, or helps me be bitter road ragger on the highways of So Cal.

so just a little tid bit of myself and my history...a real tiny tid bit, because this well runs deep-so deep it'll put your butt to sleep

Gotta love the 80's or 70's, who know. rad Pampers though