I was informed (which sounds so cold and clinical, but it was with more swearing and over coffee) that my job is going to shrink next season. As it is, I get eight months work at best, six at worst. It's not being 'downsized' or eliminated, or anything, but it will be significantly less than full time. Do you ever get the feeling that everything is trying to push you farther down the path of life? I'm getting my shit together. I'm getting my portfolio together, and my letters of reference. I'm trying not to lost momentum, and only kind of succeeding. I always feel like I'm no good at anything, but I've been told all artists feel that way. I was stuck in play readings for six hours the other day. Six. Hours. Bloody plays. You'd think I worked in the business or something. I brought some chopped up computer paper and a mechanical pencil and started drawing octopi. Or one, rather. He had a bowler hat and a monacle and a surprised expression. Then I drew a woman with a peculiar hairdo, floating in front of the moon in a very frilly robe. Then I got bored with all that. I had this idea some time ago to do a series of Virgin Mary style portraits of woman in classic poses, cradling things that definiately aren't the baby Jesus. So I drew a woman (who I later decided was a blind, albino black woman) with her hand up in a classic pose, cradling my childhood teddy bear (who also happens to be under my arm at the moment). I made sure to include the classic style halo, and indistinct robes around her shoulders. I liked it, so I did a second one of another woman in a similar pose, carefully and lovingly pulling the edge of her shawl over the raw chicken in her arms. It has been a long time since I did art for art's sake. I forgot how much I liked drawing. Also, I'm pretty good at straight up drawing. Not as good as I'd like to be, but it's good. It's better than most people I know. Damn. I need to sleep. I will fret about my burgeoning self-worth tomorrow, perhaps. Or perhaps I'll be too busy. . Rosie.
Before&After
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