Tagged: painting

Weekly Photo Challenge – The Hue of You.

For this challenge, we want to keep it simple: share a photograph with a prominent color (or assortment of colors) that reveals more about you. It could be a symbolic, meaningful shade; a color that expresses how you currently feel; or a combination of colors that excites you and tells a visual story.

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I’m not a colorful person. Sure, I have my moments, but my wardrobe is essentially black.

However, there are exceptions to ever rule, such as…

My Massive Nail Polish Collection

photo 5

I love painting my nails. I find it relaxing.

 

My Painstakingly Catalogued Book Shelves

bookshelf

 

I’m a bookworm. For years I’ve wanted a properly categorized book collection. I finally have one.

Ain’t it purdy?

Untitled

My Paintings

photo 3

 

The one on the left is a line from Poe’s The Raven, the right is a line from Pablo Neruda’s poem Verb:

I’m going to wrinkle this word, 
I’m going to twist it, 
yes, 
it is much too flat
it is as if a great dog or great river
had passed its tongue or water over it
during many years.

I want that in the word
the roughness is seen
the iron salt
The de-fanged strength 
of the land,
the blood 
of those who have spoken and those who have not spoken.

I want to see the thirst
inside the syllables
I want to touch the fire
in the sound:
I want to feel the darkness
of the cry. I want
words as rough
as virgin rocks.

My Tea Paraphernalia 

photo 4Because I drink tea when I engage in any of the above activities.

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PS – Thank you, those of you who reached out to me yesterday after my total breakdown tantrum throwing post. It means a lot to me. And don’t worry, I’m going to finish this damn year out strong.

 

Never ask me to paint your house.

So Mi Madre decided to remodel our yoga studio a little while ago, internet, and today was Paint Day.

Before Paint Day, I thought that I was pretty good at painting.

I thought wrong. 

We had Mamma Mia, my Padre, my roommate Varenka, another studio employee, and Bob the Builder (the remodeling guy) in to help with stage one of the painting. Varenka and I were assigned a new set of shelving to prime for painting, while the rest of the crew were spackling, taping, and painting the rest of the space.

Varenka and I looked at each other.

Shelving? we thought. Easy peasy. 

We were so wrong.

Maman, fearlessly painting without a tapeline.

Maman, fearlessly painting without a tapeline.

Me, emulating MIchelango.

Me, emulating MIchelango.

It turns out that Varenka and I are horribly inept at painting, which is funny, because I have a degree in Studio Art and I SPENT MOST OF THAT TIME PAINTING. 

However, Art painting and painting painting are apparently not at all alike.

Art painting you can splash some contrasting colors on a ripped canvas smothered in a mixture of baby oil and chicken feathers and call it a day.

Painting painting you have to actually pay attention to.

Varenka and I spend a whole hour with our entire torsos shoved into these shelving units poking around with paintbrushes while everyone else in the room apparently magicked the paint flawlessly onto the walls.

After about two hours of this, at which point Varenka and I had essentially finished nothing and the rest of the room was essentially done, Bob the Builder took pity on us and casually mentioned that we could use a paint roller.

It still took us another hour to finish the damn thing.

Not cleanly.

Not well.

But we finished. 

Triumph.

Notice the flawlessly painted walls surrounding the mess we made. 

It then took both of us another hour to clean off the paint which had bonded with our skin at a subatomic level. I still have paint clinging to me in places I do not care to mention.

I guess at the end of the day we both felt that us being in the studio that day was slightly more helpful then us not being in the studio, which is something.

Right?