harold_maude's journal

Text deleted. I think it's time for a burn.

This post was edited by harold_maude on Nov 06, 2005.

In the grey

# 39883

Sitting here thinking about things. Wondering how long it's going to take..how much more time. I'm moving at least, forward tords this goal.
At least that much is happening.

The last couple of days have been different. I find it hard to get up in the morning.
I know this came about because there is some big stuff comming that requires more money, so I understand that.

But I've waited so long that now, so close and still off in the distance. I feel like I've been pregnant with this forever.
I just want to get on with this.
Do the one thing I know I'm suppose to.

Sometimes it feels like this illusion just sitting there staring at me from a rippled mirror and asking me these questions over and over, without waiting for an answer.

some times it feels like I've lost so much time that when it finally does happen I'll be on my death bed and will only be able to watch helplessly, no longer able to create more, and all the while my mind exploding with vision after vision of the most intese work and not being able to focus my body anymore to try to speak about what I'm seeing.

I wish I had been strong enough years ago to leave my home town and follow this path then.
I know there are is a thought that at least I made it at some point in my life.
I wonder if I could have handled being away then, like I do now.
No homesickness...none.

I wanted to go to the cincinatti instute of art when I was in highschool.
Everyone got their own studio, and that would mean I could really study to my hearts content.
I did anyway, on my own. My instructors were all kinds of things and artists who were dead.
I remember taking adds from magazines and imitating them trying to get as close to perfect as possible.
I learned life drawing from playboy.
I learned how color works from spending hours just looking at nature.
..I wanted to go to school to study art. I was just as hungry to do art as I am now.
I'm fighting time now...
I didn't understand what I do now about art being a primitive language, one that connects the whole human race.
I didn't understand the difference between being an awesome technition and being an artist.
One takes only the understanding of certian rules and following them, while the other is fluid and moves and breathes.

I threw out the rules of art along the way. I just did what ever led me to where ever.
It was a place to hide out in from the world...
I was isolated.

I wonder what I would be like now if I had gone to school so far away from the place where I lived my life up to just a few years ago.
Would I have learned the same things anyway?

I don't know...I do know that I see art in a way now that is different from almost all the artists I talk to, especially the ones who have been to school.
It makes me feel like a freak sometimes. I think about things differently.
And I find myself wanting to hang out with other artists and see what we have in common.
and it makes me wish that I could go back in time and hang out with van gogh or lenardo, and learn as much as I could.

And Esher...and some others as well.

I've got to just stay focused and keep my thoughts going in a focused direction instead of thinking about something I can't change.

I'll be more settled once I'm there...

Things

# 39852

Text deleted.

This post was edited by harold_maude on Nov 06, 2005.

I woke up and smelled the coffee of my soul

91% | 3

# 39566

Somthing happened last night. And with all of these kinds of things, when it happens it's equivialant is waking up and smelling the coffee as it were.

Here's what I found out.

I know in my bones that I am an aritst. Not just a great technition.
But an aritst. The real deal.
Art is what I know. It flows in my veins from the top of my head to the soles of my feet.
It is my job on this planet to create art.
Period. To do anything else is just clocking time, no matter how hard I work, or how much above and beyond what is requested of me by an employer, it's still just clocking time.

It does not matter to me if no one around me belives that I can live by my art.
It does not concern me that so many people have told me that
it's not possible for me.
Other people, who are just like me, yes it's possible for them,
but not for me.
I don't have to believe what they think.

I am an artist. I know it in my bones.
It's part of what was brought together from the universe when
I was formed.
It's what makes it possible for the work I do to do the things that it does.

I know I am an artist. Just one of many that exist on this planet.
And as artists we are called to speak the primal language of the human race.
We speak of what we see and what the world and it's inhabbitants tell us.
We do this for ourselves and for each other.

It's easy to say I'm an artist. It has been easy to say for a very long time. But to believe it, what it means and to finally come to terms that being an artist has ment that every other job I've had was destine to fail.
Simply because I'm not doing my job on this planet.
To believe that and to know it means that my road is clear.
And if I keep putzing around doing other things, I'm doing the wrong thing.
I don't give a shit if thoes other things bring in tons of money or not.
And I don't give a shit if everyone I'm working with sees me as a valuable member of the work staff, and that includes the person I'm working for.
I'm still not doing what I'm suppose to be doing.
It means that no matter how hard I work, or how much I learn, or if I have an exemplry attendance record, I'm still doing the wrong thing and thoes jobs will end.
Some quicker than others.

The only job that is going to be with me for the rest of my life is doing art.
It is my lifes work.
Period.

With that in mind, I have come to the realization that my road is going to be harder, simply due to the fact that the world is overloaded with people doing art.
Doing art that is trendy, doing art that is way out in either left or right field.
Doing art that is great technically, and art that is designed to make people want it, because it's based more on feeding the currant tastes of the buying public than anything else.
That kind of art fades away with time. It becomes a footnote in history, and it becomes the kind of art that goes out of fashion and ends up in someone's attic, or at a yard sale or in a thrift shop gathering dust.

I've done that very thing. Found out what people wanted and did it so that they would buy it.
It was nothing more than giving them what they wanted. And the worst part was it did nothing but feed my ego, and gave me one hell of a big head about what I was doing.
I needed and got several good swift kicks in the ass of my soul to remind me that it's not very honest to do that.
I am greatful that the path I was going on was stopped.

It happens all the time. And from one perspective it's a way to make your art sucessful.
Andy Worhol did it. Marilyn Manson has done it. Thomas Kincade has done it.
It feeds the buying public what they want.
Speaking of Tomas Kincade, I saw that he has taken his art and turned it into paint by numbers now. Both in colored pencil and oil colors.
He's a great business man who happens to know how to paint something really well.
And he has taken this knowledge and turned it into a very huge business.
But it has gone to his head. I read an article in which he said of himself that he was the greatest painter in the world.
Now that is pretty arrogant.

I have come to believe that if I just take a step through the open door, then the work will do what it is designed and ment to do.
If I don't do it, then I will loose the ablity to.
And that would be torture. A life of misery.
I don't want to live my life full of regret that I missed it because I listened and followed the bad advise of people who don't believe that I'm capable of making a living doing my job.

Seasons of change

# 39536

The leaves are turning different shades of color, and their falling like petals off some spring flower that is dying.

The weather outside is beautiful. Warm and crisp, all at the same time.
It's the kind of day that having a picnic would be a great way to spend an afternoon. And staying until sunset would be wonderful.

I love these kinds of days. Indian summer, is what I remember it being called. I don't know if it's still refered to as that.
I haven't heard anyone talk about an Indian summer in a long time.
Maybe it became something that was politically incorrect to do.
Who knows...

It's the season of change. The landscape around me is taking on the hues of a glorious sunset that gets more brilliant with each passing day, and soon the world here will turn into shades of blues, brownish blacks, greys and white.
I heard some geese flying overhead a couple of weeks ago.

The rythems of life, that happen every year. Telling me what ballet of nature is around me, and it tells me what's comming.
Over the last couple of years I've been too busy worring about things that end up working out fine, even it it happens at the very last minuet.

I've been caught up in the fringes of the savage tug of war of working for people who I didn't want to work for, except one.
Loosing my life along the way.
I've missed the rythems that tell me what is happening.
It runs on a different clock than people who are consumed to some degree by the job that owns them.
Their lives, their free time, their world spirals around doing this thing just so they can live where they do, and if they have a job that pays better, they are consumed by that job just to make payments on things they hardly ever get to use, let alone enjoy.

For the last month and a half I've checked out only two jobs.
I've been fighting the idea that at some point I have to look for an open space in the blurr of workers and hope that I can time it just right and not get bounced off the flow of people and slam into a wall.
Not my idea of something reasonable to do with my life, any part of it for that matter.

I want to live in a world where bartering is the main way of getting what you need to live the life you choose.
Bartering allows each person to use the gifts and talents they've been given to make a true living from.
And there's less goverment interfearance.
You arn't a slave to the goverment by being required to give them money in the form of taxes, while working for some company that sees you as little more than a production drone.
When you pay your taxes, part of thoes taxes goes to keep the machinery of goverment alive.
It is a beasty that has grown fat and grosteque. It's main function now because it is so mamoth in size is to consume, consume, consume...or maybe that's not a very fair picture of
the goverment.

And maybe it's a more accurate picture of goverment that has gotten way too big.

In a world where batering was the means of getting what you need, you get to know the people your trading with.
It can be done across the street or town, it can be done with someone halfway around the globe.

But I know that with things the way they are, bartering will always be something that most people do once in a while.

Wouldn't it be awesome if you could trade the guy at the gas station a bunch of homemade bread or cookies to stock his shelves with in exchange for so many gallons of gas.
He'd have something that people could bring what they had in and trade with him for.

You could spend winters making things. Spending time with your family, eating food that you had stored in the fall.
Being able to take long walks and spend time actually getting to have fun, and getting to really know the people you live with.

You could take up new things, like brewing beer. Or making sculpture, or wood carving, and funiture making. Or how about making shoes or clothes, or printing books one at a time.
All of the above and many more things could be used as currancy in stead of money.

And you could learn new things, like watching the stars, and learning more about the natural world.
You could make fires where you and your family and friends could gather and tell stories and eat together and probably have the best evenings you could ever immagine.

If you needed to go to the doctor, you could take what you've made with your hands and use it to pay for his services.
And everyone would get what they needed.
You'd get to know the doctor you went to see because you'd actually have to spend time getting to know him or her.

I hate living in a world where money means way more than it should.
And having it or not having it decides your place in society, and wether or not you are a contributing memeber of the human race.
But to be a part of this world, one has to have money.

How did we ever get to this place? What wrong turn did we take to end us up in a place where people look at other people as wallets with legs?
And children as little more than market statistics?

I really really don't want to go back into the work world that exists.
It kills people at an early age. It runs their lives and takes nice people and turns them into something unreconizable.

If I can't figure out soon how to make a living from what I love I will have to go back there.
I feel like a frightened kitten hanging from a branch screaming for someone to come help me and at the same time too terrified to let go.
Stuck in limbo.

I wish I could just wish what I want into existance and open my eyes and there I would be...
That would be a magnificant day...

This post was edited by harold_maude on Oct 14, 2005.

Tuesday morning

91% | 2

# 39433

I have a kitten in my pocket. Little Annie. She's still small enough to fit in my pocket and she's quite comfortable there.
She's almost two months old now and she still fits in the palm of my hand.
She was the runt of the litter. We saved her and her two sisters from death by opposom.

She's a strange one. She loves to check out people's faces.
She gets very close to look in the eyes and then gently pats the face, as if she's looking for some familiar memory of someone she once knew.

Everyone who comes here gets the same treatment from this little one.
It kind of reminds me of an old woman who has brief moments of clairity, reaching up to touch the face of her children and grandchildren.

She also snores, which is quite funny to listen to. She's sound asleep right now and snoring away like someone sawing logs.
I suspect that's where they got the term sawing logs.

It looks to be a fairly decient day outside, cool crisp fall air with a good does of sunlight.
A perfect autumn day.
The kind of day that is suited to long walks in the park or the woods, depending on where you live and how close to any woods you live.
I may go collecting leaves today or just go find a place to ponder for a while.

Winter is on it's way, and soon there will be snow and short days and long nights. It makes me wish we had a fireplace here.
There's something comforting about sitting in front of a fireplace when the wind is howling outside and the snow is dancing in the wind.
A fireplace is what's missing in this house.

The foundation of this house was built in 1909, and a potbelly stove sits in the basement.
It would seem that the orginal owner of the house thought that was the best place to put a stove, as it would warm the whole house.
I was talking to the landlord and he told me about some of the history of this place.
One of the people who owned it worked for the railroad, and he built all the outbulidings in miniture so to speak.
The pig barn is the size of a small garage.
The lambing barn was orignally about 1/4 the size of a normal one.
The grainery is another tiny building and it makes me wonder what the guy was thinking.

Last year we found some very old newspapers in one of the walls leading into the basement, they were dated 1922.
Fun reading.
They had a fur coat for 49.00. And french linen dish towels for .49 cents.
I guess it's all relative.

There was an aritcle about a judge who had died. And some social events, and even an aritcle about a football game.
We've kept the papers and would like to take them to someone who can frame them without distroying them.
Their fraglie.

The staircase going upstairs is narrow, and like other old houses, it's quite steep.
I guess back then they designed staircases based on the idea of a ladder, which was what people used to get to upper floors before they put in staircases.

I find myself wondering about all the people who lived here.
What they were like, and if they were ever as discontent as many people are now.
I'm sure they didn't know what bordom was as their life was more dependant on taking care of the nessities of life, instead of filling their lives with toys to keep themselves amused.

The basement of this place reminds me of pictures I've seen of some of the houses in the english country side.
There is even a couple of tree trunks that were used as support beams.
I've been in only one other house that used tree trunks as part of the basic support system in a house.
It was a very cool old house as well.

If we are all still here, when it reaches 2009 we're going to throw a party to celebrate this place being 100 years old.
Not bad for a house that stands in tornado ally.

Well, the day is just getting started and I've got some art that is shaping up to be interesting.
I just need to find someone who's marketing skills are good.
The kind of person who could sell icecubes to an eskimo.
They are out there somewhere, I just need to find them is all.
I would market my work but I really suck at marketing, and can't sell anyone anything.
I really actually suck at it.

Maybe today will be the day I find that person. I can hope for that, and see what happens.


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