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| courtesy - Ken Mitchell |
Another night, another post/ stream of consciousness babble. This seems to be becoming a 'thing' with me, and I think my fundamental dislike of sleep maybe held accountable in this regard.
Sleep, defined by my father as perhaps the best thing in the world, is something I never could get very fond of. I mean, I do sleep when I have to - but given the option, I would opt for being awake. I figure it's because sleep takes me away from the one thing that I value the most - my world of thoughts. Not just meandering pathways of abstract explorations in to stuff most people couldn't care less about; but even mundane, frivolous ideas or maybe just colorful, shamefully duplicitous fantasies that plague my idle and indulgent mind. Although to be fair to my father, I do get his love of that restful state after a long day of... you know, actually working and being tense etc. (okay.. sounding more and more obtuse by the minute- focus..)
In fact, I can say with some sense of deep seated honesty and tested clarity that I am addicted to thoughts and their fluid, flimsy existence, which in turn forces my obsessive faculties to give them form through words. This is a quality that I yet do not know if I should be proud of or perhaps, more justifiably, be concerned about.
I paint with words... I have to.
I resist the urge to rephrase that by further clarifying that rather worthy and respectable sounding claim.
It's not that I create beautiful depictions born of arousing perceptions or that I can channel my instinctual analytic prowess in to articulate works of intellectual merit. It's more like I capture and collect photographs of my mind at times... freeze frames of zealous cognitive pursuits and I have this compulsion to manifest them in a perceptible form. And much to my chagrin, and often to the 'not so surprising' disinterested boredom of those around me, these wordy compilations of opinions or assortments of fragmented notions are not all that impressive.
But I do believe that they are expressive of something within me and that it becomes necessary from a survival point of view to pen them down in whatever fashion so as not to be overrun by them.
Maintaining sanity, it seems, sometimes requires odd measures. And yes, the verbal projection of muddled images to an unsuspecting mind is what it takes to clear the thick cobwebs in the corners of my brain that distract my senses and strays me from the more 'productive' endeavors that have more of a chance of being quantified and weighed on the accepted scales of material worth (tangible and otherwise).
This is an observation I have given voice to or perhaps hinted at with hesitant, but not unfounded, annoyance in previous posts; though never quite so clearly and in a logically sound manner.
And hence birthed in this unconventional necessity are my 'midnight paintings' sketched with insolent and self serving narrative templates and colored in layers of glorious delusions, dense goals on lofty conceptual branches and failed attempts at light humorous banter - all caked with the invigorating smoke of poisonous self loathing masquerading as tasteful introspection and of course, partly fueled by the actual swirling puffs of nicotine and tobacco that caress the steady lifeless brightness of the LCD screen in the still darkness of the night.
Unwanted, bastard children of tepid sentiment and capricious thoughts - off-springs of that unsightly alliance that proclaims itself my mind.
So there... I have painted on yet another digital canvas - a painting about why I paint. (rolls eyes)
A pointless explanation, if you will, detailing the specifics of unwavering fortitude in the face of a disposition resistant to suggestion or threat and decidedly redundant behavior that attracts nothing of substance.
However, in spite of all that, I must also sheepishly admit to drawing careless amusement from the prelude to the moment of inspiration. The prelude to the moment when I pick up that brush dipped in letters, poised to ink the page in curiously mechanical fashion.
Yes, I confess to sometimes enjoying the recurring search... the fervent scaling of the slippery slopes of arduous labor, to get to that place - that place of stillness and quiet that exists deep beneath the world we see.. untouched by perilous influences of over abundant stimuli; that haven of 'knowing' that can only be reached through this taxing journey characterized by internal solitude.
Mind you though, those times are rare... growing rarer by the day still. Sigh!
I sign off now to pursue other more wanton visual delights streaming at broadband capacity in to my life, birthed by some other more balanced minds, to lay to rest these nagging doubts that I just became aware of, that seem to be pointing with conviction towards this... this nagging feeling of narcissistic content. :)
In fact, I can say with some sense of deep seated honesty and tested clarity that I am addicted to thoughts and their fluid, flimsy existence, which in turn forces my obsessive faculties to give them form through words. This is a quality that I yet do not know if I should be proud of or perhaps, more justifiably, be concerned about.
I paint with words... I have to.
I resist the urge to rephrase that by further clarifying that rather worthy and respectable sounding claim.
It's not that I create beautiful depictions born of arousing perceptions or that I can channel my instinctual analytic prowess in to articulate works of intellectual merit. It's more like I capture and collect photographs of my mind at times... freeze frames of zealous cognitive pursuits and I have this compulsion to manifest them in a perceptible form. And much to my chagrin, and often to the 'not so surprising' disinterested boredom of those around me, these wordy compilations of opinions or assortments of fragmented notions are not all that impressive.
But I do believe that they are expressive of something within me and that it becomes necessary from a survival point of view to pen them down in whatever fashion so as not to be overrun by them.
Maintaining sanity, it seems, sometimes requires odd measures. And yes, the verbal projection of muddled images to an unsuspecting mind is what it takes to clear the thick cobwebs in the corners of my brain that distract my senses and strays me from the more 'productive' endeavors that have more of a chance of being quantified and weighed on the accepted scales of material worth (tangible and otherwise).
This is an observation I have given voice to or perhaps hinted at with hesitant, but not unfounded, annoyance in previous posts; though never quite so clearly and in a logically sound manner.
And hence birthed in this unconventional necessity are my 'midnight paintings' sketched with insolent and self serving narrative templates and colored in layers of glorious delusions, dense goals on lofty conceptual branches and failed attempts at light humorous banter - all caked with the invigorating smoke of poisonous self loathing masquerading as tasteful introspection and of course, partly fueled by the actual swirling puffs of nicotine and tobacco that caress the steady lifeless brightness of the LCD screen in the still darkness of the night.
Unwanted, bastard children of tepid sentiment and capricious thoughts - off-springs of that unsightly alliance that proclaims itself my mind.
So there... I have painted on yet another digital canvas - a painting about why I paint. (rolls eyes)
A pointless explanation, if you will, detailing the specifics of unwavering fortitude in the face of a disposition resistant to suggestion or threat and decidedly redundant behavior that attracts nothing of substance.
However, in spite of all that, I must also sheepishly admit to drawing careless amusement from the prelude to the moment of inspiration. The prelude to the moment when I pick up that brush dipped in letters, poised to ink the page in curiously mechanical fashion.
Yes, I confess to sometimes enjoying the recurring search... the fervent scaling of the slippery slopes of arduous labor, to get to that place - that place of stillness and quiet that exists deep beneath the world we see.. untouched by perilous influences of over abundant stimuli; that haven of 'knowing' that can only be reached through this taxing journey characterized by internal solitude.
Mind you though, those times are rare... growing rarer by the day still. Sigh!
I sign off now to pursue other more wanton visual delights streaming at broadband capacity in to my life, birthed by some other more balanced minds, to lay to rest these nagging doubts that I just became aware of, that seem to be pointing with conviction towards this... this nagging feeling of narcissistic content. :)
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