I am SO frustrated right now. And tired because it's 2 a.m., but I've gotta rant. About myself, so turn back now if you're not in the mood for abject self-loathing.
Right. Still here? Brave soul. So I decided to try Jon Schindehette's 'Discovering a Muse' Challenge (I've plugged it before in this blog.)
http://artorder.blogspot.com/2010/03/discovering-muse.html Great cause, great inspiration. But I must've been smoking crack when I got the notion I'd do a half-way decent job. It effing sucked. Oh, sure, when I was painting it I thought I was da man...who da man? YOU da man! Then I saw the other entries. And I saw my sh*tty digital photo of a VERY yellow oil painting. And I wanted to chisel out my own eyeballs with a palette knife.
I feel clueless. Like my favorite big red rubber ball is slowly deflating and I'm lost as to how to stop it. I have all the imagination, skill and charm of a half-baked potato.
Ain't it great to be an artist? I should've chucked it all in years ago. I don't have the time or commitment or finances to get good. Good enough to make a decent living, anyway. But I can't solve for 'x'. This is all I know how to do: be a mom/housewife, and do artstuffs. I'm 45. 46 in a month. It's a little late to reinvent myself now, so guess I'll soldier on. Things will look brighter in the morning; they always do. And on that cheery note, I'd best be taking my sorry ass to bed. Oh, wait, I have to pack lunches and set out clothes for the kids. Great. 'Night all...
