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« My life has been very intense these last weeks. ... | Home | A hole in my heart »

This is a dangerous thing, because it was a self-portrait that prompted me to stop painting for eight years, about 10 years ago.

I think it was some sort of reverse Dorian Gray thing, but the more I painted it, the uglier I got. Finally when I was looking like Elvira on a really, really bad hair day, I threw the damn thing in the closet, took out a pen and paper and wrote for eight years.

I'm not saying I regret it. Although it was a little odd to just stop painting for ... eight friggin' years!! It was kinda nice to spend that time discovering my voice, and not just the one I hear in the shower. I don't even know why or how I started painting again, and FYI I haven't slowed down a bit. But I can tell you this: I must either be an idiot or the bravest motherfucker around, because here I am painting a self-portrait again, and it's the same damn image -- me in the grass in Provincetown -- and the same colors, too, brown, green and burnt orange.

It's like I'm being eaten alive by the colors used to paint picnic tables.

Sheesh. Well I guess I'm facing my demons or something, but what is it about me in the grass that mucks up my entire creative mojo?

Was I once attacked by a lawn-mower?

Did a giant praying mantis jump off a blade of grass and bite my nose?

Whatever. ... this painting is about as fun as Newt Gingrich at an S&M convention. ... Hmmmm. Then again ... Well, nevermind.

My point is, oh what the hell was my point, ah yes, my point is that its very dangerous to paint self portraits when your entire sense of self-esteem rests securely in two things; how many phone calls (or emails) you receive from friends and admirers and how many editors want to publish your work.

Presently I've just has a nice little score with a cover story in Jewsweek, but my self-esteem is still scrubbing the toilet bowl, because the woman in my life is busy, and all my pals seem to have managed to survive without me for two days.

Two days!!!!! Doesn't anyone like me anymore?!?!??!?

This all stems from the 7th grade cafeteria; I know it.

Anne Owens, wherever you are, I owe you a punch in the nose!

Anyway, there's not much rhyme or reason to this week's rant, but then, that's why they call it a rant, anyway ... isn't it?

I got to start using more pink ...

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