No. 22

I have three hours before I have to go to work. I could shower and clean up my room, or I could update this thing and paint some more.

I'm going with option number two. Ha, number two. Like poo.

Okay.

It's really rainy and gross and pathetic and kind of November outside right now, so I thought I'd post some photos of my cozy workspace. And by workspace, I mean bedroom. I'm inviting you all into my bedroom. Such a hussy.

This light was from my memere's house. It's really old and I love it.

Found this frame at Le Petit Magasin in Casselman. Best. Store. In the world. Seriously. Drew the octopus like five years ago. The flower illustration is from a book I stole from the basement of a house my friends used to live in. Southwoood. There's a page from a book by BP Nichols. It fell out of the back of it, and it was a library book. Sorry Ottawa Library. The top is a drawing I did of this greek mythological creature or something. I can't remember what it's from to be honest. The photo is Paul Poissel. The dreamcatcher came from the dollar store. And that blue thing is really weird. It's a description of/ad for Wonderbread but it was actually the packaging for some weird sewing stuff, from my memere. So awesome.

I found the bottom frame at Le Petit Magasin; the wood bit with the fly I painted and gluegunned on. The clock came from Value Village and it's one of my favourite things in the world.

All of these tapes either came from my dad, or the side of the road. That speaker is fake wood panelled. The airplane came from a corner store in the dirty south. On McCarthy, I believe. There used to be an old dude called Aziz who ran that place, he was wonderful.

Top left was a birthday present from my friend Hannah. It reminds me of buying hairspray. Top right is by ms Jodi Tellier. Same with bottom right. Middle, the bicycle, is by the lovely Zoe Ikeda. Photo in the mirror is my memere, looking mad glamourous. That word looks incorrectly spelled. Canadians are weird.

These are my guitars and things. All keyboards from Value Village or Le Petit Masin. Gourd maracca from somebody's garbage after the Great Glebe Garage Sale [aka best day of the year]. Mini acoustic from some dude on Somerset who may or may not have been homeless. He wanted five bucks for it. I gave him that five bucks. Tambourine from a yard sale. Paisley tambourine from dollar store, altered by me. Ukelele from Steve's.

My boyfriend made this ship into an amp. My speakers and piano plug into it. It is actually the best thing I own. There's a fox skull I found back at home. The mini ship is from Value Village. Metronome is from my dad. Scary glow-in-the-dark religious thing from my friend Karine. Scary wooden dog cutout thing called Foofur. Ripped of a wall of the old abandoned high school [now demolished] in Maxville. Foofur is actually haunted.

I don't know where this little container came from. The teeth fell out of the fox's head.

RIP lightbulb collection. You had to come down eventually.

Coloured pencil on wood garbage. Doodlin at work.

Siren. Don't really like this, but my teacher was pissed I made our model into this on the second week we had her, so I feel like I have to defend this one. But I'd finished my portrait the first week, so I wanted to fuck around with a new one a bit.

Doodlerin.

Scary manhands.

HATE HATE HATE charcoal.

Acrylic and charcoal. Big weird cut up piece of wood. This really does look better in real life, I swear. I used like a hundred seventy three different colours in it, I swear.

Stupid still life for school. Graphite. This isn't crooked in real life, I just have wobbly camera-holding hands.

I like that the reference photo I used to draw the lamb was some religious-y Jesus photo.

Hands and stuff. Practicing.

This one really does look better in real life, save her being disproportionate, and also that skull not making sense. No reference photos for skulls=stupid idea. It says 'Charmicarmicarmicat Shines to Death'. Lot of Isis at work.

Joel Conroy did this. It's not finished yet, and this is kind of a crap photo, sorry. It's a wicked gramophone though. One day I'll get a decent photo of it.

Julian Garner did this one. Also not finished.

Look how small my fucking hair is. I'm growing up. Eugh.

Off to Centretown hell. Come get a coffee if you are reading this, live around downtown ottawa, and it's not past 9pm. If it's past nine and you come in, I'm only going to make you a tea, asshole.

No. 21

I went on a mission today.
I showed up early at work by accident. I thought I worked at 2, but I worked at 3, so I decided to go buy girly things that I can't afford and don't need and shouldn't be buying. I wanted to buy bras, lipstick, and shoes.
I couldn't find shoes because god forbid there should be a store with remotely nice shoes in tall person size [and I am not picky with shoes either, in that I wear pretty much exclusively six dollar Giant Tiger skimpy tennis shoes].
I did find bras and lipstick, and then I was so overcome with guilt at having bought such ridiculous things that I immediately went to Wallacks and emptied out fifty bones on oil paints.

And so it begins.

I'm actually really afraid of this oil paint era I'm about to embark upon. I hear that shit dries at the speed grass grows. Slower even. I am an impatient bastard. And I paint quickly. Luckily I got the water-soluble kind, which apparently dries somewhat faster?, but I also got some weird medium that I may or may not actually need. I bought it anyway just to be safe. I don't know how this shit works, but I used my pepere's oil paints once when I was like 11, and I painted on a piece of printer paper. There was a big old pthalo green wet spot on that paper [and everything beneath it] for a solid two weeks, from what I remember. I've been afraid of oil paints ever since.

Now that I'm no longer 11 or retarded [that's actually up for debate] I will be using said paints on canvases or gessoed wood panels. BUT STILL. I'm scurrred.
But good things come to those who are horrified, right?


Anyway. I am super tired and my whole sketelon wants to punch my head in the face but I'll likely start with the big bad oils tomorrow night apres travaille. I hope I draw something decent tomorrow at work. I feel so hit or miss all the time.

I wish I was more consistent and knew what I was doing. Goddamn you, distrustful right hand.
I really should have been a lefty.