![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmLvwo-pnCpyI2y6qhYh8TqT6-c6aEulHKlh-advOVx1mPb9no8doPf3ropfMs_gGdbbyKddHqkOFzLj3aBGwhACAFY1qWVeRATE38PN254TweD92TpPzM_whdX-2fLN6TSOztT7qrrM2f/s200/Bug+Blood+Part+V+041.jpg) |
I am beginning to appreciate the smell |
After the three day hangover that was Abstract Expressionism, I was in no hurry to repeat the experiment. Yet I feel some pressure to do exactly that, because the response to that piece was more enthusiastic than all the rest combined. We are only halfway through the series, and I don't want the energy to flag. Nor do I want to end up face down in an alley, which is where I'm headed if I continue in that direction. This week's challenge was to capture the excitement without the physical side effects, and I vowed to do it the old-fashioned way: with hard work.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUdNdbFdyxm5hG25znThZwEOrvlmp9RCersq_r66cmiscZ8bvYXOCPeGrJ7R5AznftRBUfuWmqDv3CmEkp1fBF7Um5umwYmcPijpaFncuQGdS3boljbrsCvS_DNFXE_ircO8pXjrW8Guh-/s200/DSC05282.png) |
Watching an interesting programme |
Good living starts in the morning. I got up early, made some soy milk, and went for a run. I saw children walking to school, crocuses sprouting on front lawns all down my street, and a dog getting hit by a train. As soon as I got home I showered and tried out my new cucumber face mask. My skin these days is so nice it hardly feels like my face. While I waited for the mask to dry I put on my favourite sweatshirt and watched morning talk shows. My mind felt limpid, very limpid. During the commercials I made a fresh pot of bug blood, which has become something of a ritual for me. I am even beginning to appreciate the smell.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rqv9shhQbQ0nF8TEDpLAX_kJEJcizFWAjRW8LcULVsB1VWHmjS9zZ1Kke_-Uqgja5E7Pi8OxhRtoiPC0mSGVPvjWnk57XxMVOOuRvNW0byTFRPXL6kEl4aAnkkX8meOSDV_AnWtW2fqG/s200/DSC05302.png) |
Eight blooms on this baby |
I took it to the window and contemplated this week's subject, my orchid. My goal was to capture its essence before I kill it with ineptitude. Unfortunately, I arrived at just the right time of day, and the way the light fell on it was ungodly beautiful. I knew I couldn't paint it - I'd only make a hash of it. Normally that doesn't matter, but my orchid is special. I poked around the house for something a little uglier, but nothing stuck. We are babysitting my girlfriend's parents' cat, but he had only arrived the day before and still wouldn't come out from under the couch. I jabbed him a few times with a piece of doweling and then gave up. I felt a bit too limpid. Slowly thoughts of wine crept into my head.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg8Ag5g-Mb5w9MALZyyLbvno8gjGCsKlTMckqPR4UgFMYzlwvaR3NVYLfYuQJd68VMZ8BdFaUfN2bl5q8CTt15phqp4BrGLFvTl6C1fECvvulLlpeMMTLgTDz2ySKZXyMaU0NzSTTG-fh2/s200/Bug+Blood+pt+VI+%252820%2529.png) |
Gewürztraminer? |
I had not realized dependencies could grow so quickly. Somehow between this week and the last wine had become inextricably linked with notions of public notoriety and artistic integrity. I fought back by thinking of how much more productive clean livers are in the long run. Finally my soul ransomed me and promised no paintings until I had at least a glass. I realized that clean livers are more likely to drink white wine than red, and compromised. We had a stash put aside for Easter, and I made a mental note to refresh it before the weekend.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3AQkQilwsQf1CLntE8-Vpw7a0NefVHiEDqDyWsyS4eev-iZu3KFrqMRDDoAhJL4cUsRSriMfVNwd_A95NfzOvZL4MX2-h_IL9LyovIhVxafSQ1SFzeIqcgoVjxvJOHGsC448v2AWuuog/s320/DSC05290.png) |
The strawberries were bland |
Brilliant ideas now came easily to me. I returned to my seat with renewed purpose and applied myself to one of them. After several glasses I was beginning to feel lightheaded, but I did not forget my purpose. Comparing the results with last week, I can only guess that different grape varietals act upon the psyche in subtle ways. While last week I struggled with an acute sense of turpitude, white wine made my neck itchy. Also, this time I worked from a model, which may account for the difference:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg9Z7CrVtL0Oe8h3Sh6UTluINXIoxms6-2cMCcU3IQ2epEFrKoeyC0-01eeyKI0bPsyLb_IsN27W3-A75woXnhLdu-SxkepWMGkdy7wGG-zSVch4eWnfN1RJcjjNpoBR7FmnEIJDAFiu8x/s400/Bug+Blood+Part+V+006.jpg) |
The model |
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-XluWuHo6w1xG5XVP8sVscoyocZMqWa01B5ox4t_cTadoYnk4e2yEhYaUZBuQWV0CtAfCekjsD-fZaSOrD_oZLOOLHgjoBaqHX_TtWmEc4IbivD9uIiaZA1e-mk31IOGf8AIKEGYZ2Q3E/s400/DSC05303.png) |
The still life |
Check back next week for more bug blood art!
No comments:
Post a Comment