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2005-04-02 @ 1:40 a.m.
purple bag twine handles

I have a lot to say, but not a lot of energy to say it.


Oh wait, that's over, huh? Well, actually the part about not having enough energy to give a blow by blow description about my craptacular Thursday is true. Maybe tomorrow. But I will tell you about my painting class Thursday night.

I made an executive decision, since I'm queen of the universe and can make those, that I would not be sitting next to the two laughing hyenas this week. I was in an exceedingly bad mood when I entered the building (maybe more on that tomorrow), and I knew if I had to sit within striking distance of the ninny brigade that physical violence was a distinct possibility (or at least, a deftly painted FUCK YOU on their foreheads, just so they knew that I meant business, when I said, "Stop having fun, you're fucking everything up!" (See, I told you I was in a bad mood. I was like the Fun Police. One violation, and you're cuffed and sent off to San Quentin with Scott Peterson.

So I parked my angsty, cholesterol filled ass at the far side of the room right next to where our painting teacher had his Nike box full of paints. And that turned out to be about the smartest thing I did the entire day.

Because when he started showing us how to paint a still life, I was practically right on top of everything, and even with my incredibly bad eyesight (put on your damn glasses, you stupid vain wuss), I was able to see everything. It was great! He painted the item for about 25 minutes and actually that was about the best teaching tool, I could have ever had. I was able to pay really close attention and even the shrieking hyenas across the room only burst into loud, uncontrolled laughter about 37 times, instead of last week's 486 times.

Our teacher, besides being a hottie, is also a really great artist. And he made everything look so effortless. And it was good to see him make mistake and then correct them. Some people, when they are new in an art class, think they have to produce an absolutely perfect drawing the very first time or they have to go out and commit suicide. I've taken classes like that before. And its usually women who are like that. They have to have things so absolutely and impossibly perfect, that when they fail, or perceive that they have failed, they start making disparaging remarks about their work and that really bugs me. I mean, I make disparaging remarks about myself all day in my head, but I never say, "My work sucks" in public. I may say it under my breathe or I may get all drama queenish and draw a big slash through a drawing when it isn't going well, but generally I'll just soldier through or start something new, because I really don't think you can make a mistake in art.

So our hottie art teacher finally finished up his painting and told us we could start and said not to worry if it wasn't good. I didn't really like that he said that. But I forgave him, because he's so yummy to look at.

I decided to paint what he painted, a purple decorative bag with twine handles. I did however, make the grievous mistake of also painting a red balloon in front of it. The balloon ended up looking like a tomato, but thanks to the magic of Photoshop I just took that out, and left the bag. Sure, it looks a little weird, with its big Pacman-like bite, but what the hell, its my painting, I can do whatever I want.

I did try to get as much of the 3 dimensional qualities as I could. Mr. Hottie Artist kept encircling the class helping people, but he did seem to linger with me quite a bit. I'd like to think its because I'm such an awesomely hot 40-something Desperate Housewifie type woman (only in your head, witty), especially in my tightest jeans and a tight crop top with the Golden Gate Bridge on it. Talk about phallic know, with the two towers poking skywards. And then when I went into the bathroom during the break, I realized my hair was like a total Ann Margret rat's nest. It looked like I hadn't combed it since Clinton administration.

Growlllllll, baby!

But alas, Hottie Artist was merely showing interest in my painting. I guess he was noticing that I was doing pretty well with it (except for the god forsaken balloonmato), and he gave me some really good tips about hot and cool colors (which one am I?? Hot and cool! Good answer!) And he kept using some other phrase, which totally escapes me at the moment. It has to do with the texturing and shadowing on an object so that it looks 3 dimensional. He kept telling me how good mine was. He also said my painting was very painterly.


And I guess he was right, because at the end of the class, people started walking around and peeking over the shoulders of the other class participants, and I had several people tell me how good mine was. I shyly thanked them. I wanted to look at theirs, but as usual, I was paralyzed by a totally unnatural fear of absolutely nothing other humans. I did finally kind of surreptitiously look at other people's work when I emptied my water container. The work around the room was I guess I'm used to my Wednesday night class where about 90% of the people are pretty exceptional artists. Some of the work in the painting class was very child-like. The drawing of the objects was simplistic and inaccurate. And forget about blending any colors together to create texture.

I had joked with the teacher once when he came by, that I was used to working with pastels which I rub with my fingers to create shadows and textures and that I kept wanting to rub my finger across the paint for the same effect. He thought that was funny.

The Hottie Artist thought witty was funny.

Well, if nothing else, I can usually make someone laugh. Now if only I could make someone date.

Anyways, so here it first painting of an actual object. Introducing...the purple bag with twine handles. Now just be sure to try and resist the urge to grab it out of your computer screen, you know, since it looks so incredibly realistic....

Oh witty, you're so delusional (but cute).

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty