no matter how i fight it, olympia is grinding on me. not in that mildy tolerable ''oh it's just not like home'' way either. in another way. in a different vein. an artery. right to the kisser, through the heart.
The more poor I get and the better I get at being poor, the more I reevaluate what's valuable to me. Health, peace of mine, that of my family's...gas and cigarettes.
The holes in my socks are okay cuz no one sees them.
The fact that dinner and a movie are no longer on the table because chicken broth and pasta are cheap (and the internet) is just fine.
Phone bill is a priority cuz my friends and family rule.
New paints? Nah, I've got some old weird colors I can use.
New canvas? Nah, just paint over some old shit.
$50 has more use and I can now make a penny talk, Grandma.
I have love from my Babeduder that keeps my fires stoked and lit, the support of far away hands, trust in the universe that it'll work out, and half a pack of smokes that feel like gold in my glovebox.
But lest we forget:
As I sit here... in Olympia, Washington... in the wake of my fourth wonderful job interview in so many months... I can't help but get nostalgic at the amount of rejection I've experienced in my time--creatively and professionally.
Lots of it.
Gobs of it.
Loads of it.
..to painting marathons and juried blasts....
..to the abusive ex-lover you can't escape from and keep running back to... Artown...
It's hard not to look back at the last seven years and wonder if you broke a mirror somewhere.
It's hard not to look back and wonder if someone at the head of the line or with the ear to The Man isn't fucking with ya on purpose.
It's hard to be grateful for all the rejections in an effort to be content with who you've become and where you are today....
but my goodness I'm trying.
where i'll post the in's, out's, tween's, and twixt's of my world of art mixed with pictures, links, opinions, and rants. (oh, and curse words. lots of curse words)