![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCnrywyyB7kcB_rnBh9SQkE08L4u1uCTDqpTsfYGExq0SuzFGMeseG_NA6ZuQ2WBbayqdiPRglcavjOTpPxbRIE-LHxQtPG25MPzKiSOuSP-hw0ZqnEivmbS4HBgP1vJMsRHbO6lZeo1Pj/s200/Bug+Blood+Part+V+028.jpg) |
Form |
To hell with Chinese brush technique. Last week’s landscape inspired my restless creative spirit, and my encounters with colour and form since then have left me in a state of ecstasy. On Tuesday I decided to take on one of the great artistic movements of the past century. Abstract expressionism turns my crank, both because of its ferocity and because it looks easy. I know the abstract expressionists were mostly angry drunkards because of the movies, but I doublechecked on Wikipedia to be sure, and yup: Abstract expressionism “has an image of being rebellious, anarchic, highly idiosyncratic and, some feel, nihilistic.”
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngMftI3tG7OLWcgp20cWhalndKdyAtkAfwDc2qu0WapafJdSN_mdXEdbwUUx2xKctlmYhbcQhxodDJr3yRLC7DZjaPeVyWv7KAIC5PMiVE05uxyW6Is44V_7hT3fIQfCQAVF3FDrumdlv/s200/Bug+Blood+Part+V+009.jpg) |
Breakfast |
I was glad it didn’t say patient, motivated, and reflective, because those qualities don’t come as easily to me. I got up and made breakfast, a banana and a bottle of wine. I took it out to the patio and tried to attune myself to the swirling energies in my backyard. I got absorbed in the grain of the wood under me for a long time. I got a few looks from my neighbours on their way to work. After I’d finished half of the family-sized bottle of wine I felt ready to express myself.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbwft6u5Eux2Tjc3BxTiVr104U7SOE56hqfzsqUN8ZR4cbsRw0U0Nzn8sjloGnUg3-VtYEnivYEF2YgVePlTQBc60IyzEM-Xmd9z3li7S7tCACvWeVtrOZRB-jMUGG-kr6ea3wYlJ5-hZ/s200/Bug+Blood+Part+V+046.jpg) |
Workstation |
I had already worked up a fresh pot of bug blood. I listened to my soul, it was quietly gurgling. This was not going to be a painting I could do indoors, and even so I laid down some newspaper. Birds were chirping above me. I saturated my brush and spattered the page with fat drops of blood.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPQ9WbWrPhdb8cJs-EoEhBFfs7nLOYL9svsOpAyfoPAzczhlWe-B2E6F03vX9or56ws_IgJMMsimWDnUn0jMQ7X20XyLOLh4u4nJnuMyXqKJRXT27T3Ba4F-FLWTd5IXBrAYdEbtWPhLi/s200/Bug+Blood+Part+V+016.jpg) |
Ready to express myself |
It looked good, but it lacked a focal point. I shook the pot (I keep the bug blood in an old cupcake container), then upended the lid onto the page. That was when I knew the composition would be called “Sun.” I stumbled backward to survey my work.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRgg1MWcohMqTBukZM05tsf-9f2sBZOD3gmf25KzW8_8zQCGeCLens6fTHJ8AA0OOiulaI3JoUo7m2gMNywOVQMgz9YmSJvfL1FJe1pzxFLNbNhzOlopUT6alE1MCn1UlND5UlklCKM8On/s200/Bug+Blood+Part+V+047.jpg) |
I am an artist |
It had nice motion, but something was missing. I tried mashing a bug directly onto the page, but the results were less exciting than I anticipated. I tried flaying the page with the banana peel, but it only made it look dirty, and I wiped it off with a Kleenex. Reluctantly, I realized that the problem was that I was not drunk enough.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3rx_vuasfulAf79FfrvFPQSia_Joqxj-HAfIequIGG3gs0sUZMyQvaqUgNwnIFkvh3PrVG4uypysRTMQBxfRYgq_bPQXQ8H1b3oxHCmYvxoWkiz_GUksZSKIX_If3hS583EzqcbRgIBRm/s200/Bug+Blood+Part+V+030.jpg) |
Trapped |
I downed another couple glasses as quickly as possible and went into the bathroom with the lights off. I looked in the mirror and thought about how ugly my life was, about all the people who have wronged me. I thought about everyone who would never understand my work and what I was trying to do with this project. I thought about age and creeping death. I forced myself to contemplate the fact I would never escape this murderous universe. Then I wept, and yelled inarticulately for a bit, and went back outside.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7T03ruwWebwHNWyzowajqybswFw-ga9zBpp7H4K8iEp4bQkYMBpP_JF9hz6e5KCs2nDV7HQZzHgqUnBlU_40o_KFlGHov1Zjo-R9i2-tz-zB0D-VsfnNI0biJl9od-Xhv_UtraZkr8Q4/s200/Bug+Blood+Part+V+054.jpg) |
Emotional honesty |
I don’t remember completing the composition, but apparently I had the presence of mind to set up the camera beforehand. The masterstroke appears to be undoing another button on my shirt, wearing sunglasses, and screaming as I hurl the remainder of the pot directly at the page.
Afterward I pinned it to the cupboards, snapped a photo, and was in bed by eleven a.m. Although the experiment took a heavy toll, I think the results speak for themselves:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYbsZxL2GfBjgYAXdxY1mXrnU3xzKIwqen28VvIfS6jF4VqMwetqcCGBBvqhYUW8aP6qVl1XHu9x8KKhdC8lFkRH9XJ-HfIIgOIN1tpaB12qY17toC154KUBgRBHSNkLYHmUanatTE3vC/s400/Bug+Blood+Part+V+061.jpg) |
"Sun" |
Check back next week for more bug blood art!
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