Paula and My Thoughts

Stand By Me

Untitled
Acrylic. Summer 2oo5

Painted this in less then an hour, between a shift at Duso's and The Keg (Granville Island). I only had the canvas and the paints. I used the tubes and my fingers in alot of different ways to create this colorful painting.

We are always searching.
Aren't we?
Always trying to climb to the top. It's so good there. It's great!
Isn't it?
Just gotta be the best, on top. I've gotta get it. I've gotta get it now, and it better be just the way I like it.
This is ok, right?
Everyone else is doing it.
Right?
So, up, up we go. Climbing, clawing, not caring even when are heads explode. We don't even notice that the color on the wall is our own grey matter. We don't care. It's who we are. So, up, up we go. The stairs falling to the sky as we lift each foot to the next hight.
The prisoners dilema?
Hmm...
...how often do we think about this?
What are you willing to sacrafice?
Who?
How much and how many times?

Untitled

Finally Finished this one. Glued thread to the canvas before I painted the gesso on. I basicly draw the picture first with the thread, then I paint each piece of thread many times with chosen color, then i paint the gesso thick enough to make the canvass smooth again, then paint my background and and any other details (pupil and iris) I wish to paint. (This particular painting involved alot of sanding. They don't always, but this one did.) Then, when I am ready, I pull the thread off the canvass, through the gesso and paint to reveal very thin lines of color that cut almost all the way to the canvas. I like this because it creates alot of very small details that often go unnoticed. In this particular painting it will provide a very very subtle third dimension.

This painting is about looking. Looking deep. Deep into myself, and finding all the things that I didn't let you learn about me...

(Finding every ugly scrap of disgust, every slab of deciet that you never knew I had. I'm examining all the moments when I flash froze them across your face without letting you know. Each and everytime I sold you a heart I didn't have.)

...Untill it was too late. Untill it would serve me the best and hurt you the most. Well, sorry. All I can really say to all of that is, I'm taking at look at me. I'm trying to understand why me is me. This isn't an easy path to carve. The territory is uncharted. The topic is dangerous. Unblinking with a deadly bite, the hole goes black as I go back.

You don't know me the way I know me. I don't know me the way you know me. You will never truely know me.

The Snow Doesn't Fall Here Anymore, But I Still Want Your Love.
Acrylic November 24 2oo5

Looked in my books, but i didn't find anything that i wrote about this picture. I'll look again, because I am sure that I wrote something about it.

Anyways, for now all I can say is this...

...Was listening to a lot of 'Iron and Wine' when I was painting this picture. Infatct, listening to 'Iron and Wine' gave me about 80% of my insiration for this one.

Love
Acrylic and BloodFebruary 14, 2oo6

Love, feb 12 2oo6

She is not drowning. She is waiting. Hiding in the deep dark. A bright light that I can see because it is surrounded by the darkest parts of my past. Peering out from the waters. Waiting for me to shed my fears and swim out to her. Together we may swim ashore. Leaving the cold empty waters behind. Together we embrace a new warm and bright future. But who is she? How can I swim to her when I do not know who I am swimming to? Maybe I should take my chances and go to her anyways. After all if she is love then it doesn't matter who she is. Wait. Do I even know how to swim? Didn't I leave my ability to swim in the waters of another love? One that swam only half way to shore then turned and swam back to the deepest part of the ocean, sinking quickly out of sight. Could I learn to swim again? And what happens if while I'm swimming back with my new love and I vear off towards my old drowned love? Where does that leave my new love? Will I eventually drown too? I wouldn't know where or how far to swim. How long could I tread these dead waters?

Love is a mystery. Something that I long for but am leary of. It drops me from my past and carries me gently into my future. It is a facial cream that can make me glow or help me grow a thick, cold, hard skin. It has tasted so sweet, but now a bitter flavour is all my tongue knows.

What a crazy thing, love. A feeling. Emotion. A tool and a weapon. Some have it but don't value it. Some only see it. They long for it, though they may despise it. Some have lost it. Others have never know it. Some claim to to have it. While many try to hide or run from it. It can't be bought or sold, yet some try, and still others think they have done this. It can be born or killed and at the same time it can niether be born nor killed. You can't eat it but it can bring life. You can't drink it, yet it can poison you. It is more sought after then gold though it has no place in the stock market. Maybe you love the shampoo your wife uses but not her. Or maybe you do love your wife, just not anything she says or does.

Love is the thumb. Love is the wings. Love is fear. Love is Courage

Love heals

As the blood drips from my scalp I think about all of this. I think about her. I think about the two scars that have yet to form. I think of how these scars will remind me, of what they will remind me. Dizzy, the blood clots fast in it's cup, faster on the brush, curiously slow on the canvass.

What a beautiful color.