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2004-04-21 @ 11:11 p.m.
channeling Picasso and Ry Cooder

I've discovered something new about my figure drawing class. When the model is boring like tonight (she is a repeat, and about the only memorable thing about her, is the prodigious amount of public hair she has, and if that is all you're memorable for, well, I don't think you're too memorable. Like get a bikini wax chick).

I actually think I'm starting to fly off into mental wonderland. I'm still coping with the mommy dearest/brother civil war. I just hung up from her, and she managed to pop the minor happy bubble I had managed to create by going to my art class tonight.

Isn't that always the way, lately?

Oh, I'm so sad you're not talking to me very often (I talked to her at 10 a.m. this morning). It hurts my widdle feelings. I tried telling her the reason I've been avoiding talking to her on the phone, was because every time I talk to her, any good mood I might be partaking in, is instantly smashed to smitherines by all her me-isms. My stomach is in a huge knot, just by talking to her for about 15 minutes just now. And I had felt really good when I got home from my art class.


Something that DOESN'T HAPPEN when I talk to you on the phone.

Ha, ha! It took me 46 years to figure that out, but by God, I did! I can do art, and I'm good at it, and I feel free while I'm doing it, and nobody is telling me what to do, or how to do it, or that its somehow wrong or stupid, or that I shouldn't be doing it, because it looks weird or I colored outside the lines (which I do alot - Yay for me!!!).

I love art because I can do whatever the hell I want, and nobody can tell me what to do, and that is a totally new for me. I've been told what to do my entire life by my mother.

Oh, don't do that...or did you mean to do that? Or that looks kinda funny. Just wondering.

Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, I did mean, to paint a cow purple and a girl orange, and a pineapple with pink polka dots on it. I like it.

Any questions??

I've actually been going nutty in the color department lately. I use practically every color in my pastel box on a nude. Can you imagine that? How could you possibly do that you ask? A nude person should only be skin color, right? And maybe the color of their hair. Not mine. I lay about 5-6 colors on them. Strange ones. Purples. Reds. Yellows. And it looks really cool. I make it work.

And my work is so different from when I first started. My first pictures from last November were very gentile. Pencil drawn and delicately colored in with a flesh tone pastel.

Now I do a light sketch in charcoal and than channel Ry Cooder and Picasso. Tonight we had this cool guy substituting for Johnson, and he had the weirdest collection of music ever. We had everything from Phyllis Diller singing and cackling her way through a song, to Bob Hope and Dorothy Lamour singing about coconuts to some blues dude singing about the three pigs. One of the pigs was so cool, that when the wolf tried to blow his house down, the pig suggested that he get up in the chimney and then the wolf fell into a steaming pot of broth and the pig had wolf stew.

Music like that really encourages me to be weird in the art department and I like that. Weird is good!

Earlier in the day, I had also gone to art with the crazy crazies. I had brought my Frida Kahlo book with me, and took a page from that for inspiration.

It was one of her many self portraits. This one had her with a cat on one shoulder and a monkey on the other shoulder. And she was also wearing a thorny necklace around her neck.

It turned out fairly well. I think I could still use a little more work on it, but I had to sit and listen to the aimless lithium-tainted chatter of some woman painting daisies on a plastic frame. I tried to block it out, but she was so noisy, I finally had to get in the zone.

The Frida-Zone. And it worked. It really worked.

So, tonight when I told my mom I just needed a little break from the daily calls, she got all weepy. Not real weepy. Just the melodramatic make-you-feel-guilty-and-I-went-through-labor-to-give-birth-to-you-but-(sigh)-ok, kind of weepy.

Its probably just because everyone else on the planet is needing a break from her just about now too, but I'm usually just too timid to ask for one.

But at least now I've put in a memo for one.

The I-need-a-break-from-my-mother Memo.

Now, if only it goes through, and gets approved, I'll be all set.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty