SCRIBBLING NONE

( old collage from my book - Summer 2006)

I've been doodling with paint since grade school. It started out as a mandatory thing that I loathed my instructor for making me paint something I really did'nt like. The stuff I painted was truly Horrible. Emotional and totally strange, but I did it - and realized I loved it.The more I painted , the better I got (I think) so I enjoyed it even more. Over time, it became a stress reliever (aside from retail therapy). When things were pretty down in the dumps, I write. It's not hard for me. It doesn't take much time at all. I'm not a big De Quiros thinker-type, I just write what comes spewing out my enlarged head.

( Screenshot of my flickr page above, see Sketch below. Call me crazy but reading Daphne’s comment 3 years ago still makes me smile.)

I'm in a drought now. I have had them before - when things are just beyond terribly unpleasant and the " I do not feel like doing anything" kind of phase. Or, when things are just so great and I'm here, lazy, and totally don't feel compelled to write. Thankfully, right now I'm stuck in the latter stage and haven't written anything like who knows when because I'm too dimly content to work.

I tried to work on something fun last week, just to force myself into it, but it went something like this:blank canvas - totally blank.

I mean, the thoughts were there, but I couldn't get them to form anything interesting or creative. Instead, I just forced myself up and tossed my sketchbook back on my bedside table. I've never believed in forcing yourself to write or paint. Creative outlets and some good combustion, and when I just "write to write" it comes out like uhh, and then I feel bad and think I have no talent. What good is that?