Actual ramblings, no pictures because the dog really did eat my camera cord and therefore I cannot download anything.
I could blame the recent shortage primarily on the dog but it would be slightly untrue because nothing is finished. Is anything ever finished?
Fransisco De Goya left this world having finished more than 700 paintings, not to mention the 1000 drawings and 300 prints. Think of the things he scraped, the art that didn't survive. He's 14 when he starts studying under Jose Luzan and he paints for 68 years. Incredible, to have that much time at one pursuit. Incredible.
When Henri Matisse was sentenced to a wheel chair, essentially bed ridden for the rest of his life, he transformed a medium by "painting with scissors." He turned a fad into a fine art form and this was after he'd already made a name for himself.
The arts has no shortage of crazy, most lives seem to be riddled with depression and tragedy but I admire them, in some aspects at least. There are few of us that have so much fortitude so deep a desire and drive to move forward, day after day at the same thing. So much courage to fall in love, with the world, with work. Maybe I'm not afraid to be passionate, I admire passion. (I would limit the "few" to my courageous friends and bold family, passion and commitment is alive and well there)
What about the plenitude of artists out there now, what are they saying, and what are they doing? There are so many. Is there anything left for them, is there anything left for me? Does it matter? The answer is no, because it's actually time to get on with it. To commit, to be passionate, to be in love. I wouldn't mind going crazy if it meant I had that kind of commitment. And I know a little about crazy.
Don't worry about replying, anybody, I'm breaking my rules anyway, I try not to write personal things on the Internet. These are just some cosmic ramblings sent out into the chaos with the click of a button.
On second thought maybe I'll go be a nun :)