Sentient Mentality

I think because I think I can

Leroy

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Leroy

Leroy is one of my first oils intended and given as a gift to my friend who was upset over the loss of her little guy.  Leroy was his original name which she later changed to … I can remember.  I was with her when she got him and while I’m a “dog guy”, as far as little lizards go, I thought he was pretty cute.

Unlike most paintings, this was completely deliberate and thought out.  Although the specific details worked themselves out, I was able to tell it to myself as though a story from background to foreground.  It may be the only time that’s happened.

This style of mine has remained a constant since I picked up the brush for the second time.  The first being water colours as a kid.  I love a gradient background with varying levels of glaze to it, followed by as much texture as I can get; usually with a knife rather than a brush.  There’s just something about carving paint that I enjoy.

I’m looking for photography tips when it comes to my paintings.  Seems there’s always a lighting problem.  Can’t afford special equipment at the moment, and I know there’s google, but maybe you all have some experience I could learn from.

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12:12, 12/12/12

What does the number mean to you?

The 12th day of the 12th month at the age of 12… wish I could, but I’ll never forget.

12 bottles in a case of liqour.

Two 12’s in a case of beer.

12 smokes in half a pack, what a way to start the day.

12 inches in a foot long joint or was it 13; what a way to end it.

Sometimes 12 hours sleep in 12 nights.

12 years after wasn’t enough. Another 12 … almost there.  I think its about right.

What is 12?  Just a number?

Where does your strength come from?

A day?  A number?  A name?  A song?

Something meant to be right but ended up going wrong?

I can feel my skull splitting with an urge, a surging need

To empower you with your own history

To make things all right again.

Just to be me.

 


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Stranger

How strange that a stranger should be no stranger at all.

In fact, stranger you can be closer than any friend I could call.

What’s stranger is how strange my friends would look at me

If they knew I’d estranged them just to feel free.

Do I make those friends strangers to who I think I am

Or are they strangers who I call friends who I don’t allow to see.

Is that the same or just strange coincidence

One can put themselves in the midst of a stranger mess.

There’s nothing strange about what I write, it comes from down deep.

Its still filtered for you, but strangely more for me.