I get antsy if I can't make-up something: a poem, a song, even a blog. I just need to make-up something. I'm not great with tools and such so a building project is inviting disaster, if not injury.
I have a great passion for the visual arts, but I have been frustrated whenever I tried them myself. Back in grade school I was told I had no talent. Looking back, I could draw--- just nothing that looked like what they wanted. (Remember this was the strictly stay-within-the-lines Eisenhower era, while my drawings definitely prefigured acid trips of 8 to 10 years later.)
But today I bought a small watercolor set on sale at Border's, and proceeded to summon forth the demons of the bad teachers and damn them to teacher hell.Boldly I took brush in hand and water in glass...
"Opus 1" recalls my recent trip to New Mexico and, despite the absence of cow skulls, I believe shows traces of greatness.
"Opus 2" (or "1a", depending on Art Historians) is subtitled "Black Flower for Fred"
Continuing my theme of devil-booting, this recalls a time in elementary art class, when a friend's work was deemed worthless because "they're are no black flowers." I have never forgot that, and I hereby redeem that friend and hope he goes out and buys a paint kit.
And to hell with anybody who says he can't.
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