lately i want to paint because iíve lost my grip on words and it is easier to think in colours. i want to drip blues and greys down long stretches of canvas like blood, stains of ink. i want to abandon acrylic and dip my brush in peacock blue, let it spread and dye from the center out until it fades around the edges. the outlines of profiles stained in blue, my fingers, the edges, ultramarine and azure. ultramarine was originally made with crushed lapis lazuli, an expensive stone no matter where you come from. colour is given a value you, you pay for it, only the rich have enough for colour. once upon a time before museums and before the internet only the rich owned colour or the makers of colour, now it belongs to everyone. the public property of art, the right to viewership. as an artist you own very little, you just bleed so that other people can learn to feel something.
maybe that is why i abandoned photography. for me it was the opposite of that, it was about finding a way to not feel at all. trying to find something pretty and capture it so i didnít lose it the way i lose everything else. i want to paint, i want words to flow the way they used to, i want to have everything i feel rip through me like a tornado so that i donít feel so fucking empty and useless. i want to tear open my chest and run at the canvas until an imprint is left behind for all to see, so they know the outline of my intestines and the stain of my pulsing heartbeat. i want to lick turpentined paintbrushes until all my organs deteriorate and leave me with nothing but stains on my fingers.
this is the pulse that is hard to ignore but it comes and goes so unpredictably. i should be in art school but how can you possibly focus all your schooling around something youíre only good at at certain times of the day or month or year? i failed art class because i could never hand things in on time or at all if the mood didnít strike me, my talent has never been pulling beautiful things out of thin air.
i have to feel it.