it's 10:00 pm, on January 25, 2005 - worthless pursuits.
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Here's an entry that has nothing to do with Bryant, Daniel, Mel, or anyone else that I call by their first name. here's a thing I want to do.
I want to take up painting.
Now, people who know me well will be laughing right about now, and people who don't will be wondering why they should be. let's just say, I don't have an artistic talent. I have a lack of artistic talent. If there was a stick figure theatre drawing contest? I'd fail.
But Disa, those of you who can draw will say, it can't be that bad. Art is a skill you learn - and that's exactly what I say about writing. It's something you practise, you get better. You *learn* to draw, you aren't good at it right away.
Maybe you don't say that - that's just always what I've heard. Let's put it this way: I have several years to catch up to a ten year old.
I don't know why it's so difficult for me to grasp the relatively easy (in theory) concept of taking a pencil, visualizing where lines would go on a page, and then putting them there. I draw a horse, it ends up a shrub. I draw a stick figure, it ends up a horse --well, no, that's an exaggeration. I'd be lucky if it turned out a horse.
It's not that I believe I'd *never* be good. Sure, if I started now, in about twenty years I'd be up to the skill of those guys on the Knowledge Network that draw vines and leaves in their spare time. Right now, as far as I'm concerned, those guys are Picasso before he drew faces. That's how far I have to go.
I guess the real question is, can I enjoy something that has a real chance of producing absolutely nothing but crap? Do I bother paying money for paint, brushes, some canvas paper, and then waste it when I either get bored, don't finish, or churn out something like Picasso by accident?
I don't know that it would be worth it, but I might do it, anyway.
PS: I'm reading this book about Mary Magdalene, and it's got a whole bunch of bullshit about the essence of the feminine, and the mystic energy, and I keep thinking, I paid twenty bucks for the original coptic pages, which totals about ten out of one hundred and seventy pages of mystic drivel.
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