I’m almost done with Masquerade. I’ll finish it up tomorrow, then pray it doesn’t lose any quality when it’s scanned in. I’m particularly worried about the reds. It’s been so long since I’ve been this satisfied with an image.
I’m worried that I’m becoming one of those kinds of women that feel guilty whenever they’re not doing something productive. I suppose for a lot of them, it’s a matter of not taking care of themselves because they’re busy attending other people’s needs. While I don’t think I’m liable to suffer from over-selflessness towards other people, I do feel like I should be engaged in projects that are helpful, useful, or beneficial– like, for developing talents and stuff. It’s a darned nuisance, because I don’t think it’s quite the right attitude to have, even though there’s a lot of good intent behind it. I don’t want to feel guilty for taking time to read a book. I’ve really felt like reading something lately, but there was my latest artwork looming over my head. Since they take so long to do, sometimes it’s hard to feel like you’re making any progress at all.
It’s kinda sad. I can’t stand the look of some of the images I did two years ago. There’s not a lot from last year that I’m especially fond of. Hours on top of hours go into these images, and then it’s only a few of said images that I actually end up liking.
You’d think that with all these grievances I have about art that I would give up on it one of these days. But I can never quite get myself to do that. There is no description for being able to create something. Of course there isn’t. Because you are giving part of your life to it– literally, because of the time that goes into it and even sweat and tears.