Showing posts with label contemporary artist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label contemporary artist. Show all posts

November 14, 2020

TRUE COLORS


Since the pandemic I’ve been seeing a therapist. I’m not completely sure how these things connect, but, something about the extra uncertainty of the future, mixed in with the extra delving into my past, has got me listening to a lot of music I grew up with, like The Go-Go’s, and Cyndi Lauper. I just submitted a grant application and titled the proposed exhibition True Colors. I’ve now decided to do a whole series of new works based around the titles of the songs:

Girls Just Want To Have Fun

She Bop

Time After Time

I Drove All Night

All Through The Night

True Colors


I thought Cyndi Lauper was like a prime example of eighties cheesy pop, but now that I listen again, I don’t think there’s anything cheesy about her music at all. Some of the lyrics are quite beautiful actually. 


I’ve been uncertain about my work lately, and am having a hard time figuring out what I want, and why I’m making the things I’m making. The pandemic is still a driving concern. I live alone in a live-work space, so essentially I’m living in my studio. I’m unemployed until further notice, and both the exhibition and residency I was supposed to have are also postponed until further notice. 


So, that is to say, ..… nobody’s watching, I can do whatever I like!


However, that is proving way more difficult than it might seem.


I already wrote about all the stripes I’ve been drawing to curb my anxiety, but I want to take it even further. I’ve been disgruntled about certain shows I didn’t get into, and have been spending way too much time on social media comparing myself to every single artist out there. I want to be able to focus on making work that pleases me, without so much concern for fitting into someone else’s theme or category. Who am I making the work for after all?


detail of 3 drawings:
My Neighbor's Blinds, art marker on paper, each 11x14"

I just got feedback from a 2018 grant proposal I submitted, and the comments were totally split in half. Four of the eight judges thought the work was evocative, and four of the eight judges thought it didn't have enough depth.


I feel stuck in the middle of, not deep enough and not superficial enough. I’m neither overtly controversial nor overtly commercial. Why does that feel like a problem? I used to think that not being easily defined was a good thing in art.



Anyway, back to Cyndi Lauper. True Colors seems the most appropriate title for an artist trying to be true to herself. And that’s all I can possibly do at the moment. 


Well, besides get off of freakin’ Instagram.





October 23, 2020

STRIPES

Prismacolor markers on Tyvek, 24 x 24"
Everything counts. And everything's connected.

It's almost exactly a year ago that I started making these striped drawings. I was having a lot of anxiety at the time, and the only thing I could think of to calm my nerves was to color long straight vertical lines over and over. 

So much has happened in one year. I have gone back and forth, repeatedly, working on the stripes, then putting them away, working on more stripes, then putting them away, in different mediums, materials, and sizes. All along, I struggled to see their relevance within the context of my painting practice. I knew they were worthwhile to make, but I didn't know what to do with them. 




Four 5 x 7" drawings, prismacolor markers on card stock, the backs of old gallery postcards


As you can imagine, with the pandemic and quarantine, the need for anxiety reducing activity became paramount, and the stripes suddenly were brought to the forefront of my studio practice. Working on these scraps (literally, since some of the drawings are on scraps of cardboard, and the knitted pieces are mostly made with leftover scraps of yarn), has been a great source of reassurance and consistency for me. And, as with most things, the more you do, the more you discover. The work has grown in scope and importance. The stripes seem to have taken on a life of their own, infiltrating even the large paintings now.


detail of knitted piece


I still don't know exactly how it all fits together, but my color choices, and the energy behind them, the organic nature of so much of it, which includes the imperfections of the handmade and hand drawn object, all of that speaks to what interests me in my work. I can't say I'm pleased with the 'extra bout of anxiety' that first led me to the stripes, but I'm pleased I made something out of it, and that I keep making, in spite of not knowing why or where it's going.

I keep reminding myself, everything counts, and everything's connected. 


Grasping, prismacolor markers on fluorescent cardstock, with collaged elements


See more drawings on my website.






October 9, 2020

Painting Energy, and Feng Shui



So I've been feng schui-ing my apartment the last few days. It's very interesting. Little changes, like moving my bed two inches to the left, or putting a little mirror in the corner to reflect more light, are making big shifts in the energy of the space. I like this idea of tangible energy. I'm embracing the notion that indeed, Everything is energy. 

If we could see all things like that, like we're all connected, we're all energy, flowing or not flowing, how would we behave differently? And if we could know exactly what we want and name it, how often would we get it?

"Energy flows where intention goes". I just saw that on a friend's FB page.

This is certainly true in my painting practice. When I have a very clear idea of what I want a painting to convey, it usually succeeds. And I know that from talking to viewers about their experience of the work. The only reason it doesn’t happen more often is because I’m not sure what I want most of the time. 


I think the trick to success is combining a clear intention/desire with an equal amount of ambition, and perseverance, to actively see it through. You have to put the desire into action. And that’s only possible when we are uninhibited, and freely living in the present. Not stuck in the past or the future. 


This is now turning into a pep talk to myself, but hopefully you get the idea!


This also reminds me of two things I was recently listening to. The Conversation with Michael Shaw, and Gorky’s Granddaughter, two of my favorite art podcast/blogs. The episode with Howard el-Yasin I found particularly interesting. He talks about claiming space, and naming things in order to possess them.


It seems an appropriate reaction to this most discrepant time, to be in search of some free flowing harmony. I think I'll go write a list of things I want now!





October 3, 2020

Lean Into It

I spent the full day yesterday taking pictures of new work and updating my website. Check it here: www.samanthapalmeri.com

This pandemic has me feeling frayed and unfocused. I've started five different projects in the past six months, adding quite a bit to the growing pile of bits and pieces on my studio floor. Yes I've been working, but I've also been pacing, biding my time, and letting the dirty dishes pile up. 

I'm a visual person. I need to see things in front of my face. So getting all these pieces photographed and uploaded and organized seriously feels like a little miracle! I even came up with titles for the new work, most of it at least, which is often a daunting task. 

Lean Into It is one of those titles. I thought of it for this painting below, because I see it as images literally leaning on and into one another. But I didn't want that to be obvious, so I saved the title for a different piece. 

I had a vague notion of what made me think of the expression to begin with, but when I looked up the meaning, I was so pleasantly surprised and thrilled. It perfectly describes this entire body of work, and my state of mind during this strange time, and I chalk that up to the power of serendipity and the subconscious.


Fake It Till You Make It,
the inevitable final title of this piece: oil, oil stick, and oil pastel on canvas, 64x58 inches


Lean into it-

To embrace; to experience fully or respond to wholeheartedly. To take on or embrace something difficult or unpleasant, usually through determination or perseverance; to find a way to benefit from, or alleviate the harm of, risk, uncertainty and difficult situations.  

Cheers to leaning into it! Hopefully we'll all be able to clink our glasses together, in person, real soon...



August 24, 2020

Pandemic blues and opportunities



This week I picked up the paintings from my show at Pen & Brush. Thrilled to have been asked to participate, thrilled that we were able to have an opening reception right before the pandemic, but crushed that no one got to see the show, and that those paintings are now rolled up in storage and will probably not get shown again. Also this week I finally got word about the artist residency program I was supposed to participate in this month at Arts Letters & Numbers. It is now officially postponed until further notice. 

I am extremely fortunate to be on my own, with a place to live and work, and the freedom of time and commitment, but having all communal activities shuttered or postponed, some indefinitely, is certainly bittersweet. 

Time itself is bittersweet. The state of the world, our country, our communities, leaves me feeling scattered and restless. 

I'm aware that this time I've been given is a gift, an opportunity to be focused and introspective, innovative, productive. So, each week I start all over with lists of how not to squander it. How to make the most of these moments. 

As today is Monday, I guess I'm sending this out into the world to say to anyone else feeling this way, stay motivated! Focus on the opportunities at hand, and keep working! 


Untitled Pink I, oil on canvas, approx. 46x40 inches

Untitled Pink II, oil on canvas, approx. 46x40 inches

Untitled Pink III, oil on canvas, approx. 27x35 inches





June 6, 2020

New Drawings

Learning patience is not an easy thing;
The second I asked for it, all my markers and pens ran out of ink simultaneously! No joke! I'm grateful for the lesson, and in spite of that, I'm really enjoying these drawings, not only for the process of making them, but because I feel certain they will make their way to larger paintings, and that makes me happy. The series is ongoing and is titled Fill My Cup, each one is 8 x 10 inches, art markers and colored pencil on paper











May 22, 2020

I'm still here. Pandemic update


pastel and colored pencil on cold pressed 300 lb. paper, 8x10 inches

pastel and colored pencil on cold pressed 300 lb. paper, 8x10 inches


I like my mornings for meditating, reading, writing, and drinking coffee, and lighting incense. I have often said that I am not a morning person, because I don’t like to talk in the morning, at all. But, contemplating, planning, adjusting to a new day, these are real activities that take up space. I am a morning person after all, very much so! I also do some of my best work when I don’t stop to question it, like sitting down to my drawing table without giving it a second thought, and this often happens first thing in the morning.

I am learning a lot lately about choosing to be present.

I'm still here. That's my go to answer when people ask how I'm holding up. I'm still here. I'm surviving. Some days I'm even better than surviving. 

I am so grateful that the weather is getting nice and I can go for long walks and appreciate the outdoors. I know what a blessing this is because I have friends in the city who don't leave their tiny apartments. It is also, ironically, the first time in many years that, not only do I not have a garden to tend to, I have zero outdoor space at all. It figures, after all these years of composting and growing my own vegetables, now that I can't do it anymore, the whole world has gotten into it! Today I went and planted a few pots of Swiss chard regardless. There's hardly any sun on my poor looking stoop so my options are limited, however, this feels good, like some continuity at the moment. 

There is something about this pandemic that is bringing some real truth up to the surface. Everyone is suffering in one way or another, but I feel the power of all of us being in this together. 

This morning while meditating I got a picture in my head. I am like a black and blue, and maybe I'm not the only one. I'm healing, and there’s no rushing the process. What it implies is that the damage is already done, it doesn’t hurt that much anymore, and it is almost recovered. Here is an opportunity for change. If I choose to keep bumping into it over and over, it will be like getting more black and blues on top of this one. Why would I do that?! 

So, I’m not. I'm taking a breath. I’m here making drawings, planting seeds, and accepting the moment as it is.



pastel and colored pencil on cold pressed 300 lb. paper, 8x10 inches


pastel and colored pencil on cold pressed 300 lb. paper, 8x10 inches



pastel and colored pencil on cold pressed 300 lb. paper, 9.5x10.5 inches

Part of the Beacon of Light Fairground Fundraiser May 26 - June 2
















April 16, 2020

coronavirus studio update


I held a paint brush today for the first time in months. Got the palette and the fingers dirty, officially inaugurating my new studio. I had some scraps of styrofoam I've been wanting to play with, and a small canvas that was barely started a while back. I didn't do much, because I haven't been able to focus for more than short spurts, but it was something.


Usually when I am faced with overwhelming circumstances I react in one of two ways. I either let it all out and paint non-stop, or I'm unable to paint at all. When I'm unable to paint, I draw, and glue stuff, and knit, and these are the things I've been doing for the last couple of weeks.


Each drawing: 5x7", Prismacolor markers on heavy cardstick, bottom right has collage element





I've gotten quite a few drawings done during odd hours mostly in the mornings, but I don't do much else.

Today I baked banana bread, thanks to a fun FaceBook group that's been inspiring all kinds of banana inspired silliness.

Last night I cooked the first legit meal for myself in a while. After weeks of cereal and forkfuls of peanut butter for dinner I decided it was time!







I'm still a little in shock from the stress of moving during all this, specifically from a house to an apartment, which is also my studio. I'm living completely alone for the first time in almost twenty years, which at the moment is changing my view of isolation quite a bit. Normally I'd be perfectly content to self-quarantine. It's a necessary and welcome choice for most artists, including myself. I think it's more that I am adjusting both to my own new space and living situation, and simultaneously to the new living situation and confinement of an entire society. It's disorienting.

There has been family drama and loss as well, adding a lot of stress and sadness all around. My sister-in-law's father-in-law passed, and several others were infected and are suffering with the virus, including my mother who was hospitalized but is now in recovery.

It's clear that everyone right now is suffering and adjusting in one way or another. I keep hearing people say, I'll see you on the other side of this. I'm very much looking forward to there being an other side to this. Attempting to be present and live in the moment has never felt more relevant, so that is what I am trying to do.

Hopefully today's little success will continue and increase a little each day. I hope you are also able to make the most of this time, and take care of yourselves and each other!

The drawings are available individually or in groups. Please inquire for details. samanthapalmeriart@gmail.com

















February 11, 2020

finding meaning



Samantha Palmeri, Unravel, 2018, oil and charcoal on canvas, 60 x 60 inches

When I titled this piece, a little over a year ago, I pictured unraveling as a breaking apart of things, and it felt like a good metaphor for me. 

So much has changed since November 2018, and I can now appreciate that to unravel is also to untangle, and resolve

I've never shown the painting before, so I'm excited that the timing seems so perfect to have it included in a group exhibition coming up in March in Beacon, NY. 


Loss doesn't equal failure

This is hard to sink in because we are brainwashed to believe we need things that we don't really need, and that we are supposed to want things that we don't always want. We can make our own rules and find our own way of doing things. Things that make us feel most like ourselves. Even if, and especially when, it doesn't make any sense to anyone but us.


lovers
friends
husbands
children
houses
possessions
mothers
brothers
I lose them all
little by little
and then all at once
still
in this sea of loss
I find things
in packing your bags
my lost kimono
and in filling my voids
without warning
the answer
Here all along









February 1, 2020

fake it till you make it

detail of working painting, oil on canvas



This morning I made coffee, put on my favorite Chopin, peeled an orange, fried up two beautiful eggs with butter and crusty bread, which I slid onto my grandmother's perfectly sized Jadeite plate. I even lit a candle. 
A good friend recently said to me, I’ll know you’re in a real relationship Samantha when you gain those relationship 10 lbs. The other day I said to her, hey you’re right! I’m finally having a real relationship. With myself. Apparently it’s going really well I’ve already gained 5 lbs. Cue drum laughter..
Listen, I know how to wine and dine myself
The spirit of self-care has extended into my art studio as well. I am feeling a new sense of freedom and independence. I am no longer painting angsty continuations of what came before. I've decided to paint the joy I want to feel, and damn if it's not working. Is that the expression, fake it till you make it? I'm okay with that. My studio is a positive ray of light, and I've got the comments on instagram to prove it, Lol
I know the world is falling apart and all, and I'm here writing self-help messages to myself, but sometimes you just have to go in the studio and close the door. 


detail of working painting, oil on canvas


detail of working painting, oil on canvas

January 23, 2020

newest painting, as of now


Samantha Palmeri, detail, Turning, 2020, oil and oil stick on canvas, 96 x 64 inches

In just six weeks it will be the middle of March, which will officially mark the passing of a great and terrible year. Great in its enormity and terrible in its finalities. In the meanwhile I will not wish away this moment. I can taste every desire on the tip of my tongue, but I'm here now and this is a good hour of day. This is a good second to sit here and write this. I finished this painting this week and am knee deep in two others just like it.

I'm happy with the new paintings, especially after having not done much work since my solo show in September. I'm so glad I did that show because it got me to see my work more clearly, and to make clear intentions for myself. It's funny that the things I wanted to change in the work are the same things I've wanted to change in my personal life, and I think I am; like opening up and getting less tangled, being freer with the shapes and the color, and letting go and not having it be such a struggle. I'm so ready to keep accessing those things in me to bring to the canvas. I feel like I am turning, and the work is turning, like a piece of wood that gets turned to bring about something new and beautiful.


Samantha Palmeri, Turning, 2020, oil and oil stick on canvas, 96 x 64 inches


To see better quality images go to my website: samanthapalmeri.com


Samantha Palmeri, detail, Turning, 2020, oil and oil stick on canvas, 96 x 64 inches







January 21, 2020

slow painting

fragment detail of working painting, oil on canvas
























slowly I am working on new paintings 
and even though there seems to be no logical space in my life at the moment for luxuries like painting in my studio
miraculously it happens anyway

I haven't slept very well in a while
my thoughts are sprawled out and jotted down on the backs of small pieces of imaginary papers

this morning I wrote the beginning of a poem I may or may not ever finish:

          my left eye is not twitching to the beat of my heart
          I can tell
          because out of the corner of my right eye
          knees up
          feet on the floor
          I can see the pulse in my wrist moving up and down




fragment detail of working painting, oil on canvas





November 11, 2019

how to stop overthinking

There are little orchid babies on all my orchid plants.

I'm mesmerized that they are thriving with no concern for my feelings at all!

Completely unperturbed by what's going on in the world. They could care less about the emotional roller coasters I'm on, whether it's a bad day or a good day. They don't care about my new socks or my chipped nail polish, or the teaching gig I may or may not have. They just do what they do no matter what. 

I've watched these things all year, slightly neglected I admit. Even with yellow leaves falling off, clumps of entangled roots with barely any soil or moss to grow in, they still flourish. Regardless of even some basic necessities, they still grow, because that's what they're made to do. So simple and easy.

Orchids are thought to be a difficult plant to keep, but that's a misconception. We think because they're so beautiful and delicate they need extra care, but really they need less. Less humanness, less fussing and overthinking. I wish I could be this way. I'm exhausted from all my overthinking and feeling. I also wish my art practice was that steadfast and unflustered by internal and external influences. That way I could stop thinking about what to do next and just do it.

I haven't worked in the studio in a month, since my exhibition ended, and as usual the longer I wait the worse my mental state gets. I'm aware of course that relief from all the over thinking is to get some artwork done. The irony is that it takes so much work to get to that place of losing yourself in the work.






September 24, 2019

how to fall in love with yourself


Samantha Palmeri, Good Job, 2019, oil, charcoal, and pigment on canvas, 50 x 54 inches


It seems like everything happens in the fall.

Three years ago in October I was on the floor pretending to be a dolphin sobbing like a baby. sort of if I can remember correctly, in between writhing around and laying in a fetal position in a dark room full of strangers all doing the same thing. except for the sobbing part, because when the instructor said to give yourself a big hug and tell yourself you loved yourself, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who burst into tears. At that moment I couldn't have been farther away from knowing what that felt like or how to do it. Three years later I am not sobbing on the floor, but this notion of self-love still eludes me.

When you google self-love, some twenty something with a nose ring and perfect eyeliner appears on a video saying maybe you haven't done this or thought about it in like a year or so, so here's what you should do. really? Millennial self-help is such an oxymoron.

How to fall in love with yourself could very well be the most cliche thing ever. but what if it's like the most important question to ask. after all, trying to figure out how to fall in love with someone else or how to get them to fall in love with you is exhausting and counterproductive. I'm starting to understand, or at least pretending really hard to, that all that matters is the being okay with yourself part.

So, I'm willing to give this thing a try. TRY
or Don't Try as Charles Bukowski would say, but either way it's just there, and you're just there, and whether you meet in the middle, fall madly in love, or go to the bar and forget all about it, it's still gonna be there no matter what, so you might as well..........


This article might not legitimately be about life as a working artist, but you know, confidence goes a long way. My work is about relationships, and this probably is the most important one.









September 18, 2019

PAINTING WITH ACTION

Samantha Palmeri, The Things Between Us II, 2019, oil on canvas, 60 x 60 inches

Actions speak louder than words, and my paintings speak louder than me.

Unless you put your words and thoughts into action they lose meaning. In the end wishful thinking is just wishful thinking.

Friends who constantly say to you, I'd love to, I wish I could but can't, and never do, aren't really your friends. Friends actually show up, physically and emotionally. And isn't it wonderful when they do!

Then there's my paintings, which is what I really want to talk about. I'm so proud of this work that is now showing at the Catalyst Gallery in Beacon, New York.

My amazing artist friends who have seen this work in progress know what a struggle it was, my constant questioning, uncertainty, and doubt. And yet somehow the work has ended up speaking  louder than my trepidation.

I guess I'd say these are paintings of action. They showed up! Somewhere between my brain and my hand came some resolute power to pull it through.

The work is all the things I'd like to be: vibrant, decisive, satisfying.

(other people's praise not mine btw)

This reassures me, and we all need that reservoir of surety don't we, that I am doing exactly what I was meant to be doing.

Installation view, Samantha Palmeri, The Things Between Us, Catalyst Gallery, 2019


The Things Between Us is showing at Catalyst Gallery through September 29th.
I am at the gallery weekends 12-6 and by appointment any day of the week.






March 18, 2019

Shaolin*: the forgotten borough

Who we are has so much to do with where we are from.

Something's been on my mind about place and belonging. So many artists talk about where they're from and how much it's influenced their work and their lives. Whether they left a place by choice or not, whether they stayed, returned, or were never able to, whether they hated it or loved it, it has played an important role.


I was born and raised in Staten Island, New York, and lived there until I was 29.



Staten Island has a very ghetto mentality. By that I am being quite inclusive as far as race and discrimination. It's less about poverty, but definitely about fear, isolation, and cultural starvation.

Staten Island is divided by neighborhoods. There are 19 stops on the Staten Island Rapid Transit. Each one has its own personality. In my era, neighborhoods were divided into territorial gangs. My neighborhood gang was called the Albee boys because we lived on the cross street of Albee Avenue. The Albee boys were rivals of the New Springville boys. In 1991 Thomas Bickerton's big brother was beaten to death with a baseball bat by the New Springville boys and his name was spray painted under the overpass a block from my house. I remember this distinctly because Thomas Bickerton had jumped up to kiss me in the courtyard of PS 36 during our Kindergarten recess, and I had been friendly with him ever since. I graduated from a high school with a population of almost 4,000. There were exactly two African American students in my graduating class. In the last election almost 75% of the people from my old neighborhood voted Republican.

Staten Island is divided by the north shore and the south shore. My neighborhood on the south shore was made up mostly of people who had moved from Brooklyn to Staten Island, including my family. People who commuted to Manhattan to work every day but didn't spend much time there after working hours. My friends and I didn't hang out in the city, we hung out on the corner, in back of the high school parking lot, or literally at the giant rock in the woods by my house.

In 1986 I was accepted into NYC's High School of Performing Arts for ballet. I didn't go. I have no recollection of what that conversation was like, but for a sheltered 13 year old from Staten Island, the idea of riding the ferry to the subway by myself to Fiorello La Guardia every day wasn't even in my peripheral.

There are five boroughs of New York City: Manhattan, Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn, Staten Island. Staten Island is the only borough that doesn't physically connect to Manhattan. There is no bridge or train that goes directly to the city. Commuters take a train to a ferry, or a bridge to a tunnel, or some combination which often includes driving from New York to New Jersey to New York again. From Annadale it took me an hour and a half to get to midtown Manhattan. A half hour train ride, a 20 minute ferry ride, a ten minute subway, plus the walk to, and the wait for, each of these operations. There are three bridges that cross over to New Jersey and exactly one bridge that crosses to Brooklyn. This is not an accident. It symbolizes a great cultural divide. In 1993 65% of Staten Islanders voted to secede from NYC. With mostly no interest in taking advantage of/enjoying any of New York City's culture, art, spirit, energy, there was also no interest in paying its expenses/tax bill.

Staten Island, often referred to as the "forgotten borough", if you didn't already know, was also once home to the largest garbage dump in the world. T h e   w o r l d.  It was seen from outer space... for real. On a particularly stale day one could smell the dump from miles away.

It took me years to accept that the place I grew up in was, well, kind of embarrassing. A way more suburban than urban, left out, dumped on borough under a giant shadow of one of the greatest cities in the world. When I worked in the city I never volunteered that I was from Staten Island. People would make fun of the dump or the ferry or the fact that New Jersey was easier to get to.

I hated Staten Island when I was growing up. I was shy and artistic and I didn't get anyone's inside jokes about the Staten Island mall. I had no connection whatsoever to the place I was from. When I was a senior and about to graduate high school, my parents went to an open school night and incidentally met with my art teacher. Mrs. DiGuiseppe was shocked that I had absolutely no plans for any specific college or to pursue art in any way. She's the reason I became an art major. Not because she was particularly inspiring, but because she was the only one who'd suggested it.

I think I let the place I was from define me for a long time. I'm beginning to understand that the place itself is just part of a story I tell myself about who I am, and that's something I can change.




*Shaolin is what the Wu Tang Clan called Staten Island in the early 1990's.


February 6, 2019

#artistproblems

Some of you already know, but just to say for the record, I have left my job at the Garrison Art Center.

That's a long story but the positive is that I've been able to get my painting schedule back and focus on full time work in the studio again.

Here's how it's been going. Last week out of sheer frustration I threw my paint brush on the floor while exclaiming, I can't believe I forgot how to paint! A few days later I was feeling like a painter again and actually enjoying myself. Hashtag artist problems. This morning I added a new painting to my website www.samanthapalmeri.com. I'm excited that work for my upcoming show in September at the Catalyst Gallery is finally well on its way.

I've decided to leave the paintbrush on the floor just to remind myself, every day is a new day.


half blurry picture of paintbrush on the floor.
palette table with that little rubber hand I won at a Funky Spunky Literature Night
I'm kinda obsessed with it. 
my newest painting. doesn't have a title yet. oil on canvas, 40 x 40 inches