I have not been getting much art done this month–by which I mean “practically any.” I am trying not to be too hard on myself about that, since I did just move into a new place, on my own, plus the emotional upheaval, plus I started a new job. All good excuses, but nobody ever got into the art history books based on the quality of their excuses, and excuses don’t pay the bills.
Did get a couple of sketches done, did get this four-foot tall chicken painting about halfway done, but still, they’re not finished and…y’know…real yet.
Still, with some relief, I did manage to get the next Digger cover done, which isn’t a bad little painting in its own right, of the character Boneclaw Mother.
It doesn’t assuage the guilt of the lack of art this month. I did get my portfolio and resume ready to go for the gallery interview, which should be sometime this week, but still…art guilt.
I think artists–creative types in general, probably–need some form of confession. Obviously, if you’re gonna have guilt, you gotta have a ritual mechanism to expiate it, right? So we need art confessionals, where we can slouch behind the little screen and say “Forgive me, Art, for I have sinned. It has been three weeks and four days since my last painting…”
Then we could say a coupla Hail Mary’s and go back to the studio with a lighter heart.
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