Hmmm Its been about a few months, I think since the end of last year that I had made a drawing and worked with paint
( Acrylics) for the first time. I was content with the way it turned out, I used water-color mixed with paints. I always say to myself ” I’m going to do my artwork weekly”… which never pans out that way. Last week I was starting to want to sketch again but I couldn’t bring myself to draw. I had way to many ideas but nothing stuck out which leaves me with a blank fish look.
Last night, however I had gotten the impulse to just pick up and draw, which I did ending up doing until 2 am. I would have continued but my hand was starting to hurt along with my back and neck. Otherwise I’ll obsess about it until its finished, which is what is happening at this very moment. I even dream about my art work, which is never a pleasant experience I’m so immersed on what I’m working on it’s as though I can’t detach myself from it. Which of course is true, most of the time the artist’s work is an extension of the self, but for me I don’t like the feeling. Its like I eat, sleep, drink, speak, poop, walk, run, sing, it, everything simply revolves around the piece I’m working on. Right now its in the lay out period I haven’t touched it again. Usually when I obsess over it I’ll have to leave it alone for a few days before I can go back to it. Because when I do then I won’t stop until its completely done. I have to really set myself up for the task mentally and physically. I”m sure you’re wondering but isn’t painting relaxing, doesn’t it fill you with joy and relaxation or at least help you to be calm, and think happy wonderful thoughts…..

1. NO… it’s not calming or relaxing.. the last thing on my mind is happy, it more of mixture of what im feeling what I want to draw what I want objects to symbolize, what I want them to feel, how i want them to be expressed. I end up feeling like an angry tyrant trying to control the pencil and what I’m feeling.
2. NO .. I don’t think wonderful thoughts, in fact I become obsessed, consumed, immersed with what I’m drawing… for some reason Act V scene I in Macbeth always comes to mind whenever I start to think that way,
This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe
her; stand close.
DOCTOR.
How came she by that light?
GENTLEWOMAN.
Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; ’tis her
command.
DOCTOR.
You see, her eyes are open.
GENTLEWOMAN.
Ay, but their sense is shut.
DOCTOR.
What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.
GENTLEWOMAN.
It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her
hands: I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.
LADY MACBETH.
Yet here’s a spot.
DOCTOR.
Hark, she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to
satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.
LADY MACBETH.
Out, damned spot! out, I say!– One; two; why, then ’tis
time to do’t ;–Hell is murky!–Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier,
and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call
our power to account?–Yet who would have thought the old man to
have had so much blood in him?
DOCTOR.
Do you mark that?
LADY MACBETH.
The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now?–What,
will these hands ne’er be clean? No more o’ that, my lord, no
more o’ that: you mar all with this starting.
DOCTOR.
Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.
GENTLEWOMAN.
She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that:
heaven knows what she has known.
LADY MACBETH.
Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes
of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!
DOCTOR.
What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.
GENTLEWOMAN.
I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the
dignity of the whole body.
DOCTOR.
Well, well, well,–
GENTLEWOMAN.
Pray God it be, sir.
DOCTOR.
This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those
which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in
their beds.
LADY MACBETH.
Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so
pale:–I tell you yet again, Banquo‘s buried; he cannot come
out on’s grave.
DOCTOR.
Even so?
LADY MACBETH.
To bed, to bed; there’s knocking at the gate: come, come, come,
come, give me your hand: what’s done cannot be undone: to bed, to
bed, to bed.
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