I can’t believe some of the shit my brain says. I wouldn’t let anyone talk to me the way I talk to myself when I try to paint.
Goya, The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters
I pretend the voice is coming from a person who is standing in the room. I can’t help but laugh and pity them because the person is obviously being such a miserably selfish turd that I can’t even take what they say seriously.
Whenever they start up again, I pause and look at them.
I check my mood. Why does this keep coming up today? Am I tired? Am I worried about something? How is this effecting my status or concerns?
Breathe. Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ll do it in a minute… or tomorrow. No really. Breathe. Breathe again. Continue breathing.
I try to treat myself as I would a good friend. If I’m too low and that’s difficult, I try to treat myself as a good friend would treat me.
Sometimes I’m just bombarded and tired, and I take a tiny nap. If I’m pushing myself too hard it’s likely I’ll wake up feeling better after giving myself a break.
Hiroshi Sato, born in 1987 in Gamagori, Japan, is a contemporary painter known for his modern realist works that often depict quiet, introspective scenes with a strong emphasis on geometry and light. From the age of three to fourteen, Sato lived in Tanzania, East Africa, and he currently resides in San Francisco. His ‘Water Series’ …
If you listen to NPR, you may have heard yesterday’s story on “Why Certain Poor Shepherds In Nativity Scenes Have Huge, Misshapen Throats.” According to retired surgeon Renzo Dionigi of the University of Insubria in Varese, Italy (NPR), goiters have been a sign of poverty and geographic location. The purpose of including goiters in paintings may have …
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I’m currently reading the The Uninhabitable Earth by David Wallace-Wells. I wouldn’t wish the book or the subject on anyone, were it not imperative. In Seattle, the temperature typically varies from 37°F to 79°F, and right now we’re setting unpresidented records for heat, day after day, so it’s seeming especially imperative today. “In Seattle, where …
The Inner Critic
Painting above: Xue Wang, Uninvited Guest
I can’t believe some of the shit my brain says. I wouldn’t let anyone talk to me the way I talk to myself when I try to paint.
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