February 12th, 2003


Quill Redux

Transcript of a conversation that occurred around 1:30 AM, in bed, last night.

Me: "Saaaaay, James?"
Him: "Gnnrf?"
Me: "Would you think it was weird if I got up to fix a painting right now?"
(long pause)
Him: "That might be considered obsessive, yes."

So I waiting until morning to muck about with my porcupine more...and I've gotten to the point where I no longer really know if it's better now or not. I gutted the back, replaced it with mostly empty space radiating around the bird, and expanded the quill fan on her head a bit. (Ironically, I know all kinds of ways that I might be able to fix it with color, but I shall not be swayed! Must--master--monochrome!) Critique and commentary and suggestions gladly accepted--this might actually be worse, compositionally, than the last version, but I'm at the I-can't-tell stage, so other people's advice is welcome. It may also not actually be salvageable in it's current incarnation--if not, que sera, sera. You win some, you lose some, and better to lose a painting than the shreds of my sanity expended overworking it more!

Poor, Overworked Porcupine
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    frustrated frustrated

(no subject)

One of the great truths of art, I've found--and there's not many, god knows, but this one seems to hold true--is that when Absolutely Nothing is working, and you're feeling glum and pushing pixels around to little effect, and not smart enough to quit, you can pretty much never go wrong with a naked woman.

This also works if you have a really cool background and no idea what to put on it. Presumably it also works even if the species isn't entirely human.
Margay Chick

I actually had a rather amusing little doodle of a glum hound with a cocktail, which was summing up my opinion of the day nicely, and just as I thought "Hey, that's not bad," and reached for the save button, my computer crashed. I don't believe that there's any logical reason to believe in Fate, but I do anyway, because it's easier than saying "Damn you, random workings of an uncaring universe governed by natural laws of probability but acquiring personal significance because of my one-woman anthropic principlllle!" (Hey, you try saying that all on one breath.) That's the one thing about religion I am absolutely not willing to dispense with--much, much better curse words.

Today is obviously not a good art day for a lot've people, not just me...the Yerf reviewers all seem to have been insulted and maligned from a variety of sources, due to the recent bout of applications (and thus, the obligatory bout of rejections.) My sympathy's with 'em--it's a thankless job having to review those things, I'm sure, and I couldn't do it. There's nothing that I can really add to the whole discussion, though, so I won't. My hormones are waging war on my brain in the time honored tradition. Hopefully tomorrow will bring the usual estrogen armstice, and things will subside for another month, but for now I'm restless, moody, and generally glum. Even painting doesn't really cheer me up, it's more of a placeholder on my brain. I know intellectually that this is Not A Real Feeling, it's generated by chemicals in my brain (well, I mean, they all are, but this one moreso) but it doesn't really help. Mostly it just makes me disgusted that I'm sitting around moping even though nothing's wrong. I have a finite amount of mope! Someday I'm gonna be at a funeral telling knock-knock jokes because I'm burning all my good mope on this! The horror!

Still deep in the depths of my black and white phase. (Yes, Peggy, it's a monkey on my back! A monochromatic monkey!) But hey, I think it's going somewhere useful--at the very least, I've figured out a useful way to do black and white interior illos, which were always something a struggle before. And it's so fast that I can get ideas out before they start chewing up the furniture, which is always a good thing.
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    moody moody