It’s An Addiction
I’ve heard of drug addiction, alcohol addiction, gambling addition, hell even sex addiction, but flipping rock painting addiction. In less than two weeks I’ve painted no less than fifteen blooming rocks. I’m not talking just cute little images, dots, wonderful little prophetic sayings, or lovely words of encouragement. I’m talking full on paint, sculpt, and inventing new ways to do it. Please don’t get me wrong, most of the people who do this turn out some amazing artwork and little gems of wisdom I would be tickled to death to possess. They’re use of color and design is pure beauty and delight. I ooh and awe over most of them and it is honest oohing and awing. They are magnificent.
So what the hell is wrong with me? I either have to sculpt, paint something more appropriate for a large canvas, or find a way to make the whole thing different. The lengths I’m going to just so I can come up with something different is crazy. Understand this isn’t a matter of competition, that I could understand, but more a matter of I just have to be different. I see a rock and I see an image in it and I’m off to the races. I’ve got a rock sitting over on my desk right now that reminds me of a rocky bottom pool of natural water that is begging me to come and fix it. I’m crazy, that’s all there is to it, I’m flipping crazy.
If I ever get my hands on the person who did this to me, added me to that group, I’m going to hunt them down and beat them to death with a rock. A big one and yes I do have some very large rocks in my yard. I’m talking some that weigh close to twenty pounds or better. Get this. They even want me to paint them. There’s this one with a supper flat side to it, at least a twenty pounder, that whispering paint me, paint me. I will probably end up painting that sucker and then having myself committed.
I write, I don’t paint. I make jewelry and I love doing that but this. I’m not obsessed with jewelry making. This is blooming nuts.
Here’s the real kicker. I don’t want to let the little jewels go. I want to hoard them like large nuggets of pure gold while I croon over them like Gollum over that damn ring in Lord of the Rings.
The sad part is I do understand why I might feel this way. When I’m writing my mind often has to go places that aren’t very nice and when I’m painting these little rocks the only thing going on in my head is the painting. The pure creation without much thought. I love it and it relaxes me. So to a certain extent maybe my feelings of wanting to keep the darn things, which I won’t, makes a little sense after all. They sooth my mind and for a few moments I can think about nothing but the paint.
I love the pretty colors in my world. Hehe.