I finally took a walk along Parnell Road today, with the intention of visiting a fellow artist's exhibition. Her works were beautiful. And then it struck me that up close, I've done paintings with much more detail. And that I have the same confidence with my brushstrokes, but perhaps never with the same amount of patience as I was always rushed to finish my paintings for group exhibitions. I exhaled slowly with the realisation... that she was younger than me, that she was now married, that she had a price tag of $12,000 on an oil.
I admit I always feel encouraged and deflated at the same time, visiting galleries. And the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that I haven't had my solo yet. Remembering the stack of business cards and phamplets from galleries all around Auckland sitting and collecting dust beneath my computer. Flashbacks of green tea, Lifehouse and fluffy boots at 3am, frantically trying to complete paintings.
Where had it all disappeared to?
At the International Art Centre, I spied a piece by Gabryel Harrison – You Are Beloved. I wanted to cry when I read the words:
"I want to say you need to lose a world to know
nothing is ever lost
Like the wind the heart holds everything
here, in the gift of every mourning rises the black winged bird of
Was she speaking to me? I sat cross legged in front of it, reading the poem about 10 times, staring at the raised dots.
The lady behind the counter was busy speaking to someone else. I had questions, but I waited patiently sitting in front of the painting, soaking Gabryel's words in. And I waited.
I got up after 15 minutes, realising the lady wasn't going to stop talking to the guy anytime soon. And that I really should start painting again. I've lost everything, my entire world. But nothing's ever lost, she said.
I've got to rise again. Today. Tonight.
Listening to: Daughtry
Reading: The Snow Child
Watching: the evening sun
Playing: with compositions and layouts
Eating: chocolate walnut brownies I made last night
Drinking: green tea