i’m stuck on ten paintings and this has been going on for nearly ten months.
september past: simple antipasto renderings. these could be something. more meat. more shellfish. i remember italy. it was as great as philadelphia, just different. i’ll make ten of these. i can do anything.
october past: succulents are like roses, which are like meat because they come in shades of pink and red. like wine. and the insides of those green olives nobody else likes. i’m basically traveling. like old times. every breakfast in italy was a flat bun pitched with olives, sliced, provolone fromage slabbed in between. i ate the hell out of that. washed it down with wine, or coffee, both, didn’t matter, i’m 24 years then.
november past: herbs.
december past: cheese?
january of this year: depression.
february of this year: if i cared about anything at all i guess i’d enjoy antipasto. does it matter though, do we eat to live, do we care to live, what do i eat if i care to live but living feels fraught with responsibility and incredibly expensive/not as simple as cold beer, coldcuts, and a heavyset podcast subscription?
march of this year: you can NOT put cigarettes in the antipasto paintings. they aren’t food. choose fruit. choose life.
april of this year: get some foliage in there, fruits don’t grow on air. think stems. think vase. find a place to exist, get a context, get a vessel, get a grip.
may of this year: tobacco plants?
june of this year: awareness is ground cover. politics build laurel walls, tyranny is perennial, activists are new shoots, shitty people are weeds, we can be human annually. Prune your life.
july presently: flower time, motherfuckers.