Personal Journal Sept. 30,2016 

Personal journal entrySeptember 30, 2016

Friday

       The pencil strokes quickly across the screen revealing shapes and lines I will turn into a creation later in the morning. I listen to music until I get into the ‘zone’ of creation. The pencil is passed back and forth from left hand to right hand. My eyes close as I find this place and allow my hands to use the stylus pencil to draw. The music pull me into a place I can’t describe to others.. Maybe it’s one song I’ll play over and over as I work. Sometimes it’s an entire list of songs. It depends entirely upon what the picture begins to reveal to me.

      I tap the color chooser to begin laying down the flesh tones and as I use these colors the subject reveals itself to me. Sometimes this is skin tissues so very private, emotional and it is as if I am touching the intimacy of the moment. Sometimes it requires a sexual response and at others it touches an emotional place I normally can’t even begin to express. Tears will run out of my eyes down my face and I’ll not know the reason why. Sometimes there is an agitation as the pencil strokes the picture, those private moments. It stirs me in a way like no other. These often end up being the pieces I am most unsettled by.

            They disturb me.

            They disturb others.

            They unsettle me like no other act in my life.

      Yet each day I wake up and choose to go down this path again. I ache for it like nothing I remember feeling before. Perhaps there were these moments in the past. I don’t know anymore. What I know now is how it feels inside. New, fresh and primitive all at the same time. The never ending discovery is what I call it. If my thoughts are about something from the past I will draw until I begin to see it, those moments.

      Most of the art is not what others believe it to be.

      I’ve always stated there is a beautiful moment even in the worst of life. Sometimes the horror has a beauty all it’s own which cannot be compared to anything else. There is a picture I see in my mine I want to create one day. Not today, not tomorrow, but one day. Of all the conquered horrors left behind scattered upon the darkened floor. I stand in the entry, the bright light shining upon me as my face is turned a tiny bit towards those horrors. My wings are full, strong, my body shows scars from the many fights I’ve won. My face is not perfect or even beautiful but it is strong with a knowing light in my eyes. The one which comes from life experience, from fighting the horrors in my life and the knowledge I will not go down without a fight.

      I will never stop fighting for me.

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