Hold on am I allowed to use "I" or do I have to pretend like somebody else is writing this for me so I look more legit?
I'm walking this neon path of miraculous recovery, only "miraculous" equates to "a headache producing amount of self - work on a daily basis." I write every day and the black and white screen can get dull, so I started painting because well, lets face it.
All art is a direct representation of individual human life experience and I want people to see mine. I was born somewhere and I will die somewhere else, but I want to clutter up mine and other peoples space with what it meant to me to be here in the process.
I'm from Chicago and I live in Las Vegas because I love gaudy obnoxious shit better than winter and people with finance jobs in suits, unless it includes traffic and a broken ipod jack, empty packs of cigarettes and dust on my floor which requires me to search for the swiffer for a half hour.
I'm shit broke and this is what I do for fun. If I can actually order a pizza instead of microwaving instant rice for dinner because you want to hang something I managed to concentrate on long enough to make on your wall, the surviving minute rice and I applaud you. The pizza I am going to eat, does not. But who cares about how pizza feels, anyway?
In the mean time I'm moving somewhere with concrete walls (not, actually, prison) and limited space. I'm not trying to put on uncomfortable shoes and fall on my ass in a gallery or act like I know how to wear skinny jeans because I went to art school. My intent is to just see what i can come up with and so far, this is it.
I do this because it's what I'd rather be doing most of the time. The pieces not for sale are not for sale because I'm a person that makes art that actually gives it to people. I was always enchanted by artists but it always seemed so far out of reach.
Down with the snobbery. Thanks for checking this out.
Shine on, Heather Lynn.
