From the ashes

Hooray for new art. 

Made this in my trusty art journal. I had almost forgotten about it, but then I think I realize why I hadn’t been doing much lately. I have this fear of running out of space in an art journal. Whenever I see that there are only 10 or so pages left, I run out to buy a new one. If not, I stop using it, and use a different one that has some pages left (until I get the aforementioned new journal). This journal was handmade by me, so I ran out of paper. I started using it again, because I finally got the $ to buy new paper, hooray!
All of this made me realize that actually I much prefer to bind my own journal.
I’ve had a very emotional few days. I’m pretty much spent emotionally. I love, and love, and at times it is draining. You have to be grown up enough to take it, and grown up enough to realize that at times, perhaps you made a mistake.
Oh, and this page: On the left there is a fragment of a poem that I wrote some years back. On the right is Solange Knowles, whited out. I didn’t white out her legs because I forgot, but I rather think she looks interesting that way, don’t you? The legs represent movement, and the hands and face are whited out, in an almost effort to perhaps make her more muted.
So, this page is entitled, “From the ashes”, after the poem that is on the left there. It represents a woman who lifted herself from the ashes and soot of her childhood.
I’ve gotten good at art analyzing because my friend Cindy is good at it. Ha! I send her text images of my WIPs and she analyzes them. I get a kick out of it really, because as with my poetry, I don’t really think of too much when I’m working on art. I just drift off into never-never land. You know?
Well, happy saturday (evening).

Diana Gonzalez

Diana Gonzalez is a self taught artist, writer and poet, formerly known as The Craftaholic.  You can visit her etsy store here

the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.” 

-Jack Kerouac

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