Tag Archives: coffee

The Journal of Dreams 01/08/2010

There is no time to do much before work except smoke cigarettes, drink coffee, and stare at the black horse.  I think he has way too much hair and the major screw up here is that the hair crosses over all four canvases right at their joints (the cross in the middle where they all connect).  That means I have to apply the hair across all four canvases and make sure it is totally dry, then cut it so very straight between the canvases.  If the edge where the hair is becomes rubbed on something, it will rip off.  What a horrid mistake!

I called my old father and we had a conversation about it.  Life really makes people wise (sometimes).  He can always think of an answer.  One day I’ll pick up the phone to call him for an answer and he won’t be there anymore, just like my mother who died in 2006.  I don’t know how many times I thought about picking up the phone and calling her.  Ironically she died because she received a double dose of insulin in a place where she should have been safe.  I was the only one who did not attend her funeral, I could not trust myself.  The anger was too strong.

It could be a moment of wondering if I had it all to do over again, what would I change but I cannot think that I would change much.  Self preservation blankets me and I avoid relationships, friends, family, or anything which has the ability to destroy me.  When I paint this painting I wonder if my mother was the nurturing vessel which brought me to this point in life.  Evaluating her life, I do not know of any other achievement that could top it.  Am I her destiny and what it was all for?

There are a lot of skeletons in our families closets, a lot of damage was done and time healed some of the wounds.  I have 4 novels I have worked on about these skeletons.  When I write, my grand imagination lets me see it like a movie in my mind.  I feel the warm, summer night air, smell the neighborhood, hear the music and see the moon glisten in the distance.  Pulling from memories is a wonderful thing in creation, like the Interference Blue’s mimic of moonlight…wonderful.

All my life, as far back as I can remember there was a silent traveler with me which as an adult I called: A Sense of Sadness.  When I was 32 my mother handed me a book of poetry I wrote when I was 12 and every poem in it was about death or dying.  It was a shocking Revelation for me because I had wondered often times when the sadness really began and why.  I couldn’t believe it had been at that early of an age and to have written about it then, it originated earlier.

In analyzing how I could have possibly known anything about death at that age, I could not remember any instance.  No one near me had died, none of my friends family members had died and to this day, I still cannot remember how it started.  The similarity of my mother dying at 12 and returning to tell the tale made me wonder about dreams, memories and how we protect ourselves from psychological pain by forgetting.  I wonder…

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The Journal of Dreams 01/05/2010

Oh man…I got up at 5pm, drank 4 cups of coffee, watched it turn into night within 30 minutes of getting up, laid on the couch looking at that damned black horse.  I turned over and went back to sleep until 8pm, forced myself to get up and stay up.  My eyes remained blurry and felt like paper cuts were in them, I made more coffee.  Google images is the most excellent source for research.  After searching black horses, red horses, white horses, painted horses, sketched horses, reared horses, horse’s heads and just about any aspect of a horse there is, I began painting over the black horse again.

It took about an hour to thinning cover him with white once more.  I believe that canvas is going to be double its original weight!  I have used 3-4 ounce bottles of white paint covering and recovering the 30 or so legs and maybe 12 heads and partial bodies…amazing.  This time I covered him completely.  Tonight I will paint the horse-period….to be continued…

It is 5am and the black horse’s base is done and he looks majestic!  How it began was as usual, the brush tightly in my hand, afraid to be free but then I realized:  If I make a mistake, I will just paint over it, it is not so hard…lolol.  So here I am standing there, tired beyond tired looking at the massive space I have to paint him in.  I start with the brush low, in my left hand (I am left-handed), at about the level of my ribs.  I hold it with 2 fingers instead of my entire hand and let go!  I let the brush go where it wanted to in a soft, flowing way up the hind quarter, to the rear, across the back and into the shoulder as far up as I could reach.

Standing there wobbling on my tiptoes, I let the brush drop and paint splashed all over.  I stood back and looked at the frame of the black horse and was finally pleased.  I cleaned up the mess and got on the step stool using the same technique for the head and neck.  The head was not right, so I did it again, and again and again.  I wanted the horse’s head down in a loyal, powerful pose.  I had tried it up but he was too close to the locust ascending from the bottomless pit, they were eye to eye.  I left the head off and took the canvases down to work on the detail of the body; thousands and thousands of swirls and texture highlighted in metallic blue.