So I finished him. Nine goes I had at his face. NINE. We’ll talk about that another day when it’s a bit further away.
He’s fine. I’d probably keep doing his face over and over until I got to this fictitious point where it is perfect. It won’t ever be perfect and I’ve got other shit I need to do.
“The Boxer, 1953” by Rachel Brennan, done as a collage in ballpoint pen, ink wash and soft pastels. Which is not even close to what its going to say on its didactic. Whoops.
As I said, he still doesn’t look right to me. A bit part of my problem is that he doesn’t look like Clive Owen, which is what my heart and imagination want. But that’s a problem that he has in common with just about every other man on the planet so if I’ve gotten used to the rest I can get used to this one.
I’ve gotten started on my next thing. Because I have five days until I have to hand these suckers over and I work full time at my own small business and I apparently don’t like sleeping and I’ve got my eye on that Hannibal auction that’s going on. (The hats! And a murderplaid is out of my budget but you know one of those white business shirts of Hannibal’s would be beautiful quality. Anyway.)
I’m going to be turning this
into a landscape that looks realistic. I can’t find the original photo right now, but that’s fine. I have the printed copy. You lot can wait.
Seeing I don’t have much time and I’ve stupidly called the thing Grace I’ve been meditating on a piece of music that I’ll have hopefully guiding my hands while making that Rothko knock off bullshit above realistically look like the Australian bush. I haven’t done a landscape in ages. All of my pieces have had people looking directly out at you, and it’s a bit of a mental gear shift that I’m hoping music will help me through.
Fly, by Einaudi, who always soothes the raging beast
Hopefully I’ll be able to encapsulate what I love about art, which is small representation of what I love about being a human being at the end of a very long line of other human beings who have sung and danced and belched and farted and created and fought and overcome and innovated all throughout the past eighty thousand years on this tiny, unlikely blue marble hurtling through space.
It’s a lot to say on an A1 piece of Mi Tients paper, but I’ll have a crack.