Focus on the thing that fills you with energy.
I have got to stop with this cute hand drawn, it’s a hobby I’m good at semi professional bullshit. It’s not about whether I’m good or not.
Not about whether you like it.
Or I like it.
Or whether it’s currently ethical.
Or currently stylish.
Or new at all.
It’s like abstaining from the thing that I know will be at the end of this current road.
Pulling up on the dive way too close to the begging.
I made the decision.
It was holy and Devine and it meant something.
I felt something and decided to dive with it.
Faith and excitement and anticipation and love and sex and magic and all of it.
And I said I’ll fucking go, I’ll come too.
I don’t know who’s in the car but I’ll get in and I’ll go.
Punch me in the face.
Pull the chord.
Put me in a cage with it.
All of it.
This is recent work I’ve done… this is my work… I work.. I go to work here. I thought of you and thought of what you do and thought that language that you understand is pain and work and grey and over and over.
But I’ve met you before and I know you know more than that.
This is a painting.
This is material.
Oil, pigment, plastic, dust made of skin and spit and food and waste and dead stuff and stuff that took thousands of years to go that colour. And canvas and hairs from brushes. And wood and nails. And I made it.
Not in my spare time, In the time that I cut from my life to do this. To make this painting. Following a feeling. A feeling I first had as a child and had again and again, like I was meant to feel it.
Following my mentors, my gods, my kin, my mind, my second self, my unmade son, my mothers mother. I followed it all, and I got to here.
To words and paint and heartbeats and fluid from my body.
And this thing here.
I recognise in this thing that I have built, the thing that built it.
I see hidden at points, obvious in others, the emotion that brought this thing to life.
And so I hold my severed hand within itself, I look at the last use of used youth and pass it to you. I tried to nurture it, and let it grow and change as best I could. But now it flies the nest. Now it stands ambassador to the other hands I might have. I may never know whether this hand was the best it could be what it might teach me. But I loved it and it used me..
I used it, but it used my arm, my nerves, my kneck my mind, it found itself things to feel through me and I through it.