fine...Fine... FINE!

Roughly 11 years ago a friend gave me a book that started me on my path to becoming a painter.

At the time I was crazy in love with her (in the way that only a 19 year old can be) and although the rational side of my felt that the book itself was hokey self-help nonsense, the lovesick teenager in me convinced that other part me that I had to do it; and do it I did.

I spend the next six months in England investigating and testing my creative abilities. I took one day a week where all I focused on was my "creative recovery". I didn't have any television, video games, no job, no car, no girlfriend (the girl who gave me the book had long since disappeared), and very few responsibilities. In short, nothing stood in between me the time necessary to process this material.

Those six months were instrumental in my artistic development. More so than any other time in my artistic history. I quite literally picked up a book and decided that I wanted to be a painter. At the time I quite literally had no artistic training and only an average level of innate artistic ability. (by that I meant I could doodle) But somehow, I felt that art was a correct path for me and come hell or high water, I was going to be a part of it.

For next five years I approached art like a warrior monk. Religious in my certainty fearless in my approach. I did my devotionals every morning in the form of journal keeping and I battled paint every day. I gave sermons lectures and encouragement to the arts. I secured a studio space for the school, I founded an art club, I ate slept breathed and drank art for 3 years. in short, I was an nigh-unstable tour de-force in creative inspiration.

Then all the bullshit of real life hit me. I left college and got a real job. Suddenly all there were demands on my time. Places I had to be things I had to do. It was the fate of a warrior monk during the industrial revolution.

Looking back on the last 6-7 years or so it's amazing how many emergencies I handled that were touted as "crises" when they really weren't. Things that had to be handled "right then" or disaster would break loose. Perhaps it was my training as a warrior monk that allowed me to handle these so called "emergencies" without freaking the fuck out. (Most of the time I wanted to tell people to just calm the hell down.)

But somewhere along the line I lost my monken focus and my warriors attitude. It's time I get a a little of that back. And so, Clar Innis!

Let the battle begin.

-F