Still Life With FATE

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Another pic from the inside of I've Been Framed, this from the top of what was once the sole display case from the vintage art-supply "Museum":

I call it Still Life With FATE.

This number of the legendary pulp icon was curated with wit and cleverness. Of course, some of us know what they mean by this: synesthesia. Sometimes we joke about trying to smell the number 7, but this is a reality to a synesthete, who, due to a sort of neurological cross-talk, get real physical sensations delivered with their perceptions of visual input. Some people say they can taste words, for instance, and I've read many accounts of people who feel sensations and textures associated with colors. Some see sounds as colors.

I fancy I have a mild tendency for this: various colors bring textures to mind. I've never been tested, and it's entirely possible that it's my over-active imagination at work as the sensations I think I experience are little better than wispy hints. But it's a fun thing to think and it just may keep me a little connected to my art, who knows.

 

[art] Step One: Dream Big

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Our text is The Artist's Guide, by Jackie Battenfield. The homily should become apparent, I hope.

Dreaming big has always been somethingI've done really well. But effectively? Nope. I always go into something, like my two stints at Community College, thinking that if I just do my lessons with enough diligence and sheer sincerity, the rest will take care of itself. In as much the last course, at PCC, despite me graduating in graphic design, has gotten me exactly no closer to my goal of working in the visual arts than I was when I started (never mind how long I've been trying to figure it out), just working hard and earnestly, apparently, don't cut it.

That's a sad thing. The way I was raised, you worked hard enough and honestly enough, the way opened for you. Wouldn't be the first thing in life that turned out to be a bit of a lie (yeah, that's a harsh word, a sharp judgement, but sometimes you have to call it the way it looks. Life makes little hypocrites of us all, I've become convinced).

So, welcome back to the beginning. I've begun again so many times, I should rename myself Finnegan. Ahhh, Square One … we meet again. But what other alternative do I have than trying to figure it out again? Otherwise, I'm already dead … just waiting to be buried. So, we turn the puzzle on its side … for the however-many-th time it is, and try to figure it out again.

On page of chapter 1 on The Artist's Guide, then, we see this:

I always have done this. But maybe I need to try another time, and vary the angle of attack.

Dream big? Okay. Nothing I feel confident to put down on paper just this moment, but what's the best way to dream?

Today, why … I'll sleep on it.

[art] The Desk, Between Ideas

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Where I try to come up with things. My 'studio' is in the basement, in a finished room that is outfitted as an office. It is made with a perma-desk and a bunch of cabinets and is a very fine place to just exist. Happiest place I've ever been able to call my own.

The two books open before us are, foreground, the everpresent diary, and background, the book The Artist's Guide. I'm going to use it to help guide me toward being a working artist, which is what I should have been going for all along.

I'm going to be sharing bits of this journey in days to come, time to time. Some details in the next missive.

We're going to try to get serious. Not just arting around any more.