Paint

Sometimes I take all the shit I don't want in my life and write it down. Everything negative I've ever thought of myself - too fat - too tattooed - too loud - too smart - not good enough - not pretty enough - either too much or not enough of whatever it is. I write this all down. Yes, all of it. I take that paper and burn it. I burn all the bad shit in my head and wait for the ashes to form at the bottom of whatever receptacle I've chosen. I mix this ash with paint - and make beauty out of it.

Sometimes I go the opposite way - sometimes I take all the shit I love about myself and write it down too. I'm a genius. I'm beautiful. I'm an art gallery. I'm talented. I'm happy. I have hundreds of friends. I am awesome. I am an angel. I can leave my body. I can see people's auras. I can fucking fly. I can turn into a plant by mimicking its breathing. I can hear the thoughts of trees. I can hear the pain of humans and act upon it. I can create miracles. These things I write down, these and more - and I also burn that paper. And I mix those ashes with the paint and make beauty out of the mixture.

Before I left Chicago for my trip to Puerto Rico, I had one prayer. I had a canvas that had been sitting on the easel for MONTHS waiting for the right moment. Waiting for me to have something to put on paper and burn. A prayer? A thought? An idea? I had a dream full of vivid reds, and yellows, and leafless trees. I asked for one thing and wrote that one thing down two days before my trip. My thought - my dream - my hope... was for some sort of inspiration. I wanted to be inspired to come home after my trip and fill every blank canvas in my studio with amazing.

I painted. Not my best work - not by a long shot - but good enough to hang, and definitely beautiful. But the true magic - the true artistry has nothing to do with the brush strokes - and everything to do with inspiration. I've found it. I can't wait to get home and paint.