This is a new weekly blog series where I exit stage left—and my Art Journal who is a bit of a Diva takes center stage and confesses, in her own words, what the making of an Art Journal is "really all about." I think she just wants attention, but I've decided to humor her—and entertain you. So with no further adieu, here is the next installment of Diary of an Art Journal" written by the Diva herself. I hope you enjoy...
I'm SUPPOSED to be her daily practice. I'm her Art Journal. I am her playground, her classroom, her therapy session (and darling, I do keep those secrets close)!
Sometimes she comes to me with a burst of energy and hardly a greeting—which I have to say is very rude. How difficult is it to give me a little love? "Hello my dearest and most beautiful Art Journal"... Wouldn't that be nice?
But no, on those days she's throwing color and shapes around so fast I have to make a quick exit until she calms down.
Sometimes she's in a quieter mood. She turns my cover slowly and in those moments I have an opportunity to regale her with my wit and excellent taste.
See this page? I ask as she flips. Remember how I convinced you to use that brilliant cardamon to compliment that midnight blue? Remember how I helped you see the meaning of that image? She smiles then, sometimes. She remembers.
But of course she's there to see what I can bring that day. If I can convince her to give her mind a rest (How about some tunes? That podcast you've been meaning to listen to...?), I have a good chance to throw her just what she needs.
And then sometimes she's all business. She has an idea to explore, an experiment to conduct. She tells me as such.
"Art Journal," she says as she ties her art apron around her waist, "I'm just going to see what happens."
I can't say that I'm comfortable with those sessions.
What? I gasp, What if your little experiment doesn't work? What if...I can barely speak the words in a whisper. What if what we make is U G L Y?
"You know the answer, dear Art Journal," she says.
And although l fully believe that all my clothing—including and especially my undergarments—should reflect the highest quality and my excellent taste, I do know the answer. We say it together:
In an art journal, ugly can always get a fashion re-do. (wink)
However, as I was saying...
I am supposed to be her daily practice. It doesn't matter what mood she might be in. As her most trusted resource, her Art Journal, I can work with whatever she brings. I always do.
Lately I haven't seen her as often—certainly not every day.
And I will not lie. I resent her neglect.
So this time when she came to me, I simply had no other choice. I turned my back on her.
I simply refused to look at her when she spoke.
"Art Journal," she said from behind me as she splashed on reds and oranges and pinks, "Sometimes every day is a bit much. Sometimes I'm busy doing other things!"
Busy doing what? I asked over my shoulder. Inktober sketches? Finishing all those pieces you started this year in Art Fix classes? Creating even more new projects without me?
I know what you're up to, I said.
"It's not like I'm cheating on you!" she cried.
Hmph. I turned back around.
"Stop sulking," she said, playing with turquoise and sky blue and grey.
"Dear Art Journal, don't you know by now? You are and you will always be the foundation of my practice."
Hmph. Her background does look quite structural.
"So do you see what I'm creating here?" she asked.
Yes, I said warily. You're experimenting with drawing and painting a woman—
"With a photo reference," she reminded me." And what is she doing?"
Oh my. When does Denise get the thing before me?
She's looking over her shoulder, I admitted.
Like? she said.
Like me right now, I mumbled.
"And what is this woman— who is me of course," said Denise. "What is she saying on this page?
"I'll be back. Don't worry."
Me? Calm down? Indeed.