Blood and Whisky

It's an odd day, a rough day.

mean, disturbing dreams took over last night making me wake up with a foul uncomfortable feeling in my brain.

I begin to work in the studio but such as it has been for the past few weeks, i tend to begin without realizing how insanely tense my face mouth and head it. For some reason, it's like lifting heavy weights. trying to finish this solo exhibition and struggling to define the self and myself.

Having all of this knowledge, literally a small library full, of art history through current contemporaries. Forcing myself, in the end, to throw them all aside and accept no influence for a few months. The work should change and show me something new, right? It should evolve and start peeking through with hints of myself. Some say they see it but I still attack the canvas, pulled tight face letting instinct and emotion run the show. Trying to think and not think to get the fuck out of my own way, as a friend told me once.

That's the struggle now. Bad dreams and fears aside, when I take a break after only two hours I feel light headed not having realized how tense my head has been that whole time.

sit back, get undizzy. look at the piece. start again.