OYECOMOVA!

OYECOMOVA!
The mounting stress from the previous evening had seeped into my pained consciousness. Argh. The thought process “continue” could not even register in my mind at the moment. The days events poured in, the weeks, and the months. The sad, happy, pleasured and weak times all scathed my scarred brain and wreaked havoc across its muddled mess. The best way to release the stress in my life was to paint. Not the best artist but definitely an inspired one, my paintings depict scenes of utter nonsense to places and times to symbols and religious figures. In my old room, the small washed out blue was a pain to deal with, it was bleak and hopeless like the size of the room which was impeccably small. So to cheer it up I sketched a scene from Calvin & Hobbes on my wall, the image which detailed the two famous characters sleeping in a tree during the summertime. Its still there. This evening however, I could not paint epic murals upon my walls, they had just been painted a fresh coat of “semolina”, a golden yellow, and scratching nonsense words and images upon the beauty are, not legal. Fair enough. So my paintjob resorted to my old image of Kali. The demon goddess as she’s put, a Hindu goddess of feminine power, of strength and human nature, this old painting of mine was just her head, black serpents spiraling from her skull, wicked sharp white, 3 inch long teeth with blood dripping off of her forked tongue. Yes, it was the perfect image of my unstable serenity and feelings. My demon, my strength and power channeled into an image of human frailty and mistakes. A few days previous, instead of doing yoga in yoga class, our amazing teacher took us outside and depicted in beautiful imagery the yoga myths and relation to beliefs and faiths and stories and symbols. Inspired as I was by this speech, I painted the skull necklace, the head dripping blood, the fierce blade, and the skirt of human arms, all lying on a fresh bare-breasted dancing goddess. It was perfect. The radio tuned to a Santana song as the images were inspired and flowed from the notes of the guitar chords. With the music keying in, my mind at peace, and the paint dotting from the brush tip, things were much more at peace, stable, at ease. I dream of painting. Of painting on 12 foot canvas’s. Of splashing my feelings, of speckling, ripping, crying out my feelings on to a blank white sheet, onto shapes, forms that come alive through a process of release. Through this painting I was working on, all that was pent up spilled out into her dark skin, faded textures, and penetrating purple eyes. I never finished it. The painting is still sitting, awake, alive, waiting to be spilled upon, more blood to be shed onto its surface. The call for dinner startles me, the wave of kale and tofu stutters my brain as it recovers from its moment of relapse.