I have come to the conclusion-no one is stopping me from having a gallery show but myself. If Richard Butler can have a show, I just as bloody hell should have one too. His paintings were just as I imagined them, dark, disturbing. Women with skeleton faces, men with WW1 hats on, naked. I find when paintings are done in such a way, it's comforting. I might sound a bit off, but it's like a warm blanket. You know it's there when you need to see something that visually depicts how your brain feels.
What I'm trying with my paintings is to take all those really light colors and come up with the same feeling. Growing up in the south, bright lights become this blinding, overpowering heatwave of a curse that makes you want to find the darkest place to hide in. So, I want to make light play the evil/dark bit. We'll see how it goes.
During the opening, I mustered up my courage to talk to the gallery owner, and when we were standing there, Moby walks in. Too funny. Moby is small and looks like a sweet librarian, Richard Butler is tall and pretty hot for a man who will be turning 50 soon. Both men were wearing glasses. MMM...men in glasses. I wear glasses so of course I like a man wearing them too.
That's my report, I'll check in every now and then, but I have to paint to help my soul.