Sometimes failure is the best option. This is the hardest and possibly most important think I’ve learned during my life. It might be a way to calm myself down because of constant failure but I do think at the core it’s more than a valid point of view.

I haven’t failed this weekend at anything, but then again, I never played so there was no success either. I’m ok with that.

It’s an odd thing. The way we’ve been hammered in all the possible metaphorical ways to think that the original is better. Even when there’s no real original, there must be a limit. I’m not sure why but I think it has something to do with money and, no, I can’t really come up with another reason. Perhaps to create a manufactured urgency and envy. But those are more side-effects from the money issue.

I’m an aesthetic. Poster, print, painting, reproductions. The image and what it gives me is the important thing. To me, if someone asks me where I got it and I can answer and perhaps even give away a copy, that’s a good thing. I want art to be appreciated, to drift in and out through people’s lives. It’s hard in some cases, architecture for instance don’ really lend itself to copies in an easy way except by way of LEGO. (LEGO needs to be recognised as an art-form.) But I can’t see any reason why kids shouldn’t be allowed to climb on old statues if you got those in the garden. 

Expensive photographs with editions of five copies, I don’t see the point. Not really. there’s a bit too much reverence for art as a static object, the beauty of tear and wear is seen with disdain. Perhaps I’m just too digital in my way of thinking but I can’t be alone in this. Art needs to be liberated.

It’s hard to reach out. Even for just a second, and then it gets even harder when the flesh meet. Will I pull back? Flinch and throw myself into a corner while in panic try to construct walls out of anything nearby? Mostly there’s a flinch, and the brain struggles to maintain control and keep some sort of an appearance up. On a good day, that glimpse of panic beneath the mask is only peripheral. There have been days when a goodbye was said with a handshake and not a hug. Walls.

And then there are the deeper issues. If it’s not casual but more intimate and that with people one don’t even know, at least not well or in some cases hardly at all. How do one do that? I don’t mean a how-to list about how to con people emotionally thank you very much. No, I’m amazed that people can do this as I lack the skill socially. How to let strangers come close physically, it’s… There’s the walls, and flinch, and panic, and self-loathing, and insecurities, and uneasiness with touching strangers, and especially them touching me. And yet. And yet the craving of closeness, comfort and well belonging is there. (Could’t come up with another word on C? No.) It’s hard to combine these, so everything needs to be there behind the walls where they don’t try and kill each other.

Late night cookie cupboard pillage is imminent. You have no right to judge me! It’s a few hours (very few) until dawn so it’s still night, the same night. It’s okay then.

Addendum: one of the cookies — you can’t just have one, that’s stupid — fell to the floor. It made it but I was worried a for a second.

Me and Count the Count from Sesame Street could have a buddy cop show. Only not as much cop, but you get the gist. I’d do powernaps and he would count them. “One-ah, two-ah, three-ah powernaps! Muahahaha!” That’s how today’s episode would have went.

“Tell me everything you love and the one thing you hate the most.

— nightlyowl-deactivated20101110-

Love.

• Sound of rain hitting the window.
• The smell of old books, and wet hair. But not at the same time.
• Cookies.
• Wacom Intuos4 drawing board.
• Books about cities.
• Short-lived quality tv-shows such as Wonderfalls, Firefly, Slings and Arrows, The Middleman, The Inside. You know, most of the Tim Minear shows.
• Trade paperbacks of comics.
• The brain of Grant Morrison.
• Words with rhythm.
• Dices rolling.
• Playing Arkham Horror.
• My fearless Jayne Hat.
• The Mekons’ music.
• Music in general, it’s an addiction.
• My friends. I wouldn’t be here without them.
• Post-its.
• My cameras, battered and used and inadequate as they might be.
• Reading role-playing books.
• Sitting under a rain-smattered roof, listening to a radio play while drinking warm chocolate.
• Tea.
• Change. (Which is funny cause I’m a creature of habit.)
• Hugs. (Although not comfortable with physical touch from people not on a short list.)
• When movies and tv-shows make me cry.
• Autumn.
• Girls/women (where is the line between those?) in knitwear.
• Fanzines.
• Long knitted scarves.
• Socks.

Hate.

• Pineapple. God I hate those. And time zones. And distance. Imagine all of them in a triumvirate of Evil. Iiik.

“Have you ever been in love? Will you tell me about it?

— snickr

Yes I have, a few years ago. First I was a bit daft and didn’t get it myself. I can be very daft about these things, never really learned socialisation. After a while there was this realization and an “oh no what am I going to do” feeling, pain in the gut and nervousness levels all up to hell. I mustered up for the first time in ages, told her straight up and then there were no real consequences and I spent a short wile in lala-perhaps-lala-land where nothing was certain. That was brought to an end because of it being non-mutual and there was pain, again, and I needed to get treatment for my depression. Got over her, we’re friends, didn’t get over the depression.

I liked it the best in lala-perhaps-lala-land, it wasn’t so bad. Being confused and nervous and small doses of happy is pretty damn normal for me.

There was this crush on a girl in the Digital Illustration class I took in the beginning of this year but I had reverted into being a cowardly recluse.

See? Truth! So you lot better ask.

A reflection on the portraits. I’m not that big on realism, that might come from the photography — that’s what I use when I want to capture something “real.” When drawing, I struggle to find the likeness, to capture the details. Realism really doesn’t even enter with a thought. I want a face and all that, but no, there will probably never be a doubt what medium I use.

There are occasions when the details are there without me knowing, and that freaks me out. It happens far too often, and some have been just scary.

snickr replied to your photo:Nightlyowl. I’m doing these in the order they came…

I assume this was your source? 29.media.tumblr.com/tum… You did GREAT with the mouth. Your style all over it, but the likeness is absolutely there. One thing, her head more rectangular. But that mouth! Well done.

I know, I know, I know. I just settled with a good chin as opposed to butchering it up — because that made me feel bad. I did actually use several photos as reference and I think I’ve been able to correct the shape problem. (I re-uploaded it so I’m not sure how that affects the old reblogs…)

And thank you to you and the people who were pleased with their portraits.

Today I have not killed parts of the family. I will call this a success given the situation. Didn’t even maim them — that’s how fucking nice I am. Eleven more miracles and I’m a Greek God. Except for the Greek bit, don’t think I have ancestors from there.

I did the cliché thing earlier. Had a beer, lay on the bed and listened to sad music (Surunmaa, they tour Finland right now and if you like the music I like, I can’t recommend them enough.) I didn’t feel sorry for myself so I didn’t live out the entire standard. I was just fed up with everything. Every small detail was boring, wrong, annoying, and just… frustrating. Pointless even. Not a good day, but that’s okay. One is allowed to have those without feeling guilty about it. That’s what the psychologist says anyway.