Oct 17, 2003

In the cryptic phrasing

I finished my second art journal tonight. As I felt the end pages approaching, I also felt the sense of triumph draining away, being swiftly replaced by my old friend anxiety. Now, I'm going to have to start a new one. And, really, these are never going to go anywhere anyway. It's just another sink for my fretting. If not this, my career slump perhaps? Or my love life? Or my doomed genetic predisposition towards never figuring it out? Ever?

But I do have two bulging books of it now. My "art." My mess of glue and paint and things cut out of other things. Sometimes I like the way the colors go together. Sometimes I laugh at what came of what I was actually trying. Sometimes I turn the page quickly and hope that no one sees what was on it. Sometimes I bemoan the rubbing of this page's color onto that page's surface. But I almost like that. It's a sign that I'm not getting so hung up on getting it right and perfect. It's the freedom to fuck it up that is keeping my brush moving in the first place. The freedom to make a mess. The freedom to be surprised when someone says they like that one page in particular when it was the one page I was sure was the lostest cause. I will scan some of these pages one of these days. But the books are, as I said, bulgy, and they are hard to get flat on the scanning surface. And they leave bits of waxy aquarelle behind. And they often look sort of disappointing and flat to me once they have been catalogued in that fashion.

I liked the colors on the t.v. one day. It was while Gidget was playing. I sighed and wished that things on t.v. still looked that way. That brilliant, polyester way. Then I took pictures.







Gidget was writing an advice column for the school newspaper, and everything went wrong. Then she played matchmaker. It was a riot. Can you believe it's Sally Field? There was some other actress in that episode -- or maybe it was in an episode of The Flying Nun -- who also made me stop and go, "Wow. I can't believe she was ever not totally old." I'm not known to be generous on this topic.

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posted by Mary Forrest at 12:12 AM | Back to Monoblog


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