May The Force Be With You

Carrying a canvas home is like battling it out with higher forces. Forces such as mother nature and the stupidity of man. It seems I am being constantly tested as I bear the responsibility of taking home a canvas. I can't recall a time when it hasn't been windy during these occurrences. A wind so powerful that if I didn't hold on for dear life with my two little hands I'd be blown right off into the air, canvas in hand, like a misshaped cloud.

She's testing out my resilience I'll mutter to myself as I struggle to make it home in two pieces. Seeing if I'm worthy to battle it out with the big fish. Seeing how long I can handle the heat before calling for a ride home.

Sitting behind her lavish desk she watches down on me, her laughter booming, with every exhale my little body is thrashed about. My seemingly constant battle with mother nature is physically exhausting, but it is my battle with mankind that is far more debilitating.

The stupidity of mankind is something that has baffled scientists for as long as people were...well people. What baffles this wind swept blogger is the stupid questions that arise when one carries home a canvas. "Do you paint?" "No buddy I fucking surf! See this canvas, it's my surfboard. I carve up some pretty gnarly waves on that sea of pthalo paint." Of course I didn't actually say that but you can bet your white canvas that I thought it. Replaying the scene in my mind then laughing as the horse in question scurries away in shame. "Take that!" I'll boom.

Returning to my original point, which is my curiosity as to why the obvious questions? We artists are not aliens, you need not make conversation with us unlike any other. In fact I'd much prefer to be treated as an alien, thus securing a force field between myself and society.

Oh and by the way I don't want to know that you can't draw. Do you think I'm offering lessons? Does me carrying a canvas immediately grant me a smudge of artistic ability? No, like I said, I surf.