On art, and fun, and saving your life

This Saturday was my first watercolor class ever, at the Brooklyn Museum.  I thought I knew my way around watercolor, but the more I learn, the more I learn that I don't know what I'm doing.  And really, I just want an excuse to paint for a couple of hours a week. It's a ten-session course, and I get to take it with my dad. Not to mention a lively assortment of art nerds. I say that without judgment, as I am one of them. These are my people. You shall know us by the graphite smudges on our cheeks.

One of my class paintings. Oh, but I have a lot to learn.

I cannot begin to tell you how fun this class was. It was stupid fun. I can't explain it. We didn't do anything ground-breaking. But by the end of the class I was giddy. I get such joy from this, it's embarrassing. Why is it embarrassing, you ask? That is an excellent question, and one I should bring up with my imaginary therapist.

It's been too easy, over the past few weeks, to set this new habit of mine aside. Life gets tiring and complicated and by the end of the day I'd rather watch the Daily Show than haul out my paints or find something to sketch. (The other day I sketched Jon Stewart. Multitasking!) I have to push myself, but I'm so much happier when I do it than when I don't.

As I wrote in my latest blog post over at Babble, I started painting after my psychiatrist suggested I figure out what "fun" meant, for me.

During one of my sessions with my psychiatrist, most of which were spent with my head deep in the tissue box, he asked me what I did for fun.

“Faaaahn?” I said.

“Fun,” he said.

“What is this ‘faaahrn’?” I said.

It seemed like there was a trick to his question, like my source of fun would have to be esoteric and challenging, something that hadn't occurred to me before. Like samba lessons, or advanced magic. I considered art, and disregarded it at first because it was--well, not easy, but natural. I've been drawing and painting my whole life. It seemed like cheating. Like I was getting away with something. As if fun needed to be hard. I am a slow learner, folks.

I want everyone else to have something like this. Especially those of us dealing with depression--we who tend to focus more on feeling okay, on avoiding pain, than seeking out joy. If you could do anything that's pure fun, what would you do? Bonus points if it's embarrassing. I suspect you're all secret clog dancers.

Time for art!

Because it's always time for art, is it not?

It is also time to move my junior high pictures away from the top of the page, where they are hurting everyone. Or me. They're hurting me.

Here's some stuff I made! I now have a Zazzle store, which features a couple of these, if you want to buy a print or a card. Or postage stamps!

I've been experimenting with my new brush pen, which is now the only thing I will ever use to sketch my cat. It perfectly captures her bonkers essence.

Here she's all pissy with me because I kept poking her with my pen. Which in my defense was to keep her from chewing on my sketchbook, which in her defense she was doing because I hadn't fed her. Ours is a complicated relationship.

Then she was enamored of a bird outside the window and I was enamored of her crazy eyeballs.

Once the cat was fed she stopped bugging me, so here is a typewriter! Typewriters do not chew on your sketchbook when you're trying to Create. In reality it's black, but that's no fun. This was also drawn with the brush pen. (Plus some watercolor.) That pen is the very best.

And then I sketched this, from some construction they're doing at my subway stop.

I tried to make a Real Watercolor of the above image, without using pen first, and caa-aarefully laying down layers of paint, going from light to dark, all that shit they tell you to do. And it sucked. Absolutely looked terrible and dead and boring. So then I scribbled this in my sketchbook and slapped some paint on it, and it's not perfect but I LIKE IT. I'm not sure what the moral of this story is, except maybe Only Do It If It's Fun.

Some disorganized ramblings along with these sketches

Last week I was experiencing post-panic-attack ennui and wondering if I should give in, once and for all, to my agoraphobic/weirdo tendencies. I AM a writer, after all! What reason have I to go outside? Or look people in their scary faces?

Instead of bricking over the door, I sketched. A lot. Like while I watched TV with Henry. Who did not approve my drawing of his feet. For the record.

Then the dog woke up, and made me walk him. Jerk.

(This was before he had to be Coned. He's much better now, thanks for asking! He has no more need for a cone, and it looks like we've avoided the need for surgery. His vet declared him the healthiest fourteen-year-old dog she'd ever seen. AT LEAST fourteen, we reminded her. He could be much older. He could be the Methusaleh of dogs.)

I also sketched Izzy. She still hasn't forgiven me. It's actually a flattering portrait.

(Charlie sleeps a lot.)

Then I was all, what do I draw now? And my living room was like HELLOOOOO. So okay.

At the end of last week I went on an audition. Of all things. I thought I was a writer who never had to put on pants? Except to walk the dog? And even then a longish coat will suffice? And now I'm being called on to put on mascara and emote in front of a camera*? (*Magic soul-catching box.) Next week I'm going on another audition. One that is totally unrelated to the first one. I apologize for being so cryptic but this is all very puzzling to me. I hope to tell you all about the goings-on when the results are in. And I'm on BROADWAY!

(p.s. not Broadway.)

Seriously, I'd like some breakfast. Anyone? [Update! See bottom of post!]

I'm up at 5:30 am writing this, which is not something I'm doing for fun, because the only thing I do at 5:30 for fun is sleep or sleep-eat. But I happened to wake up at 4 in a mild panic about All The Things, my ever-growing list of work obligations, and I'm pretty sure I'm forgetting something important I said I'd do. And now everyone is mad at me. (If I ever write a memoir I'm going to title it "Everyone is Mad at Me." Don't steal that! That's mine!)

It's great to have a huge work load, I know. I've had plenty of early-morning panics about not having enough work. This is better. I am okay with all the work; it's the NUMBER of different projects that I can't seem to wrap my head around. It's giving me a temporary case of ADD, an obsessive need to write list after list, and a strong yearning for a butler, or a chef. A chef-butler. At least someone to make me breakfast.

In the middle of all of this I'm trying to get off a Big Project off the ground, which I hope to unveil in a couple of weeks. Forgive me for being so secretive. I will remain alive for a while so that I may shortly reveal all. That is my pledge to you. ("I Will Remain Alive" is my second memoir title, written when I am frighteningly old. The cover will be a close-up of one of my eyes. When I die all the copies of the book will burst into flame. I've thought this through.)

In the meantime, here's a watercolor I did recently.


And another!

I could do nothing but paint all the time. I love it so much. I think I'm an art nerd. Is that a thing? I'm walking around with the dog and I see a gnarled, stumpy tree and all I want to do is draw it. All the dog wants to do is pee on it. And then I want to draw the dog peeing. And then I do. I need help. Or art supplies! That shit is pricey.

Update on February 18, 2012 by Alice

Oh, you people are too good to me.

I took your advice/requests and created a Zazzle store. You can now purchase prints of the tree picture--in poster, card, or wrapped-canvas format, if you're fancy. I'll add more paintings, when I clean up some other scans I have. Thank you!