weighing my heart to find my worth

so i ordered a painting from an artist i adore on instagram
she paints portraits of women from 1950s yearbooks 
but adds bruises & blood to their smiling faces
the piece i bought 
however
was a watercolor heart and a parrot
a very small piece
i did not realize how small until it arrived
but i did not regret the money i spent
because the painting makes me happy
& she included an additional small painting 
of a hawk
& she is a wonderful artist
with a unique eye

two days after i paid $45 for  her 3″x 3″ painting, i sold 10 of my sea creature cards for just $5 a card. 
granted, i sold them to a friend & had not agreed on a price before hand. 
but, i realized
i am totally worth more.

my kids yelled at me when i told them how much i paid for the watercolor–not because i spent money that we do not have on art–but because i am not asking for more for my own art. 

my problem is, i think i am worth the world, but i fear no one else feels that way.
which makes pricing my art, my creations, that much more difficult. 

in other news, my newest muse called for a squid to be added to my collection of sea creatures. 
i was skeptical. as much as i love squid they just remind me of penises (maybe that is why i love squid)
but i am totally in love with how this turned out.  

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i miss you (do you miss me?)

the wonderful poet
& soon-to-be published fiction writer
mike ennenbach 
asked me to paint the portrait 
to be used in his book
(!!!!!!)
thus
infecting me with my own 
writing bug
so i have been absent
both
to paint his portrait
& to work on putting together a fiction collection
of my own….

but do know that i miss you & am sorry i have fallen so far behind on reading your posts.
you know i love you
& miss you like crazy.

wishes of fishes

morning coffee
to the screams 
of minions
as the world fogs over
on a cold morning
day
waiting for a plumber
to return my 
calls 
so i can stop
pooping
in the yard 
(i’m not really
pooping
in the yard)
i can tell you this
i finished 
my fish
cards

itchy fingers

no pages written
no pictures drawn
looking at other people’s art
& being
down
on
me
wondering
when i will get it right
when i will
win the race
trying to find my way
and feeling like
i’m going in circles
today is a new day
but
in all fairness
so was
yesterday.

just me. fucking around with lines & colors & concept after looking enviously at the art of other artists on instagram.
i looked through five journals today, trying to figure out which of my self-portraits i like the best to do a final draft of. that is a lot of me to look at. and although–yay–i like a great number of my self-portraits, i suppose i am going to have to narrow it down. maybe i will try to get some audience participation 
who wants to pick self-portraits for me?
i also worked to edit my short story, “together, tangled” while sharing my laptop with three minions who think they should all come first. c’mon kid, is daniel tiger more important than my becoming a successful writer? 
i guess that depends.
eventually, i got tired of the editing & pulled out my journal to see what would happen if i put pen to paper.
but even in my goofing off, i am working towards being a better artist, a better writer. 
i feel very grateful that the things i love to do are the things that i love to do. 

treasure hunting

so it turns out that if you spend thirty-six years writing without locating a publisher who will publish you & then just saying “fuck it” and squirreling all your writings away, you create a bit of a situation. 
i just went through some actual folders (not virtual ones) to find these gems from the early 90s when i was still using a typewriter because, fuck it, i am….(wait, what’s the opposite of cutting-edge?)
retro?
archaic? 
luddititious?
a dinosaur?
(if i am a dinosaur i want to be a velociraptor.)
wait–you know what–i am going to circle back & say i am cutting edge. i was years ahead of the hipster typewriter trend. i am a goddamned trendsetter. 

typewriters are cool.

so, in addition to my working on creating a book from select pages of my art journal self-portrait series, i am also working on putting together a collection of short stories. 
short stories that i wrote, and then left to age.
i think they are well-aged at this point, and ready for harvest.
or bottling? 
how would that metaphor work?

as you can see from this incoherent post, i am using all of my brain power for editing short stories & art journals while juggling four screaming minions. 

meanwhile…i am almost almost so close to being done with the postcard commission & the portrait commission.
so close!

there are no happy endings

you see
i’m that person 
in a corner
because
nobody said
about me
nobody put
baby in a corner
leaving me
alone
in a corner
sad
in a corner
crying at those movies
where the misfit
finds
true love
after all
because i know
nobody
loves 
misfits
&
there’s no such thing
as
true love.

i’m just going to stick with being a faun. it speaks of my true nature…and, as a faun, there is no need for pants.
no panties!

if you are wondering, this is what a friday night watching netflix original movies while drinking wine & eating gummy worms looks like. 

reindeer games

it’s a good thing
i was not rudolph
nor rudolph 
me
’cause i totally
would have been
like
fuck off reindeers
i don’t want to play
your goddamned games
anyway
i would have gone off
into the wilderness
bad attitude sharp enough
to fight off
wolves
& i would have
lit up my nose
so the birds
& squirrels
could come & play
in my 
light. 

this is an accurate portrayal of how hairy my legs are. yes. i am a satyr. they just burned off my horns when i was born. 

as my ink gently dries

these are fun to do because they don’t require a lot of thought. it’s kinda zen. just move the brush. wax on…wax off. and i am always amazed at what happens when you put ink on paper. the hardest part is being patient. 
this is step two (i posted step one a couple of days ago)
i still have a few more steps before they are done…but i have to be patient & wait for my ink to dry between steps.

also! i love my bamboo pen so much lately! 

divine intervention

maybe i should not have
but i drowned 
all the fairies
in a glass of beer
with a drip of 
soap
drunken little bastards
they never returned
the pen
they stole
 but now i find myself
crossing my fingers
& waiting 
for the little voices
to whisper
again
telling me
what to write
guiding
my pen
in stories
they pull
from somewhere
deep
dark
inside me
as i watch
& wonder
“where the fuck
did they find 
that?”

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