While trying to start this post I got lost on Google trying to figure out why we celebrate the new year on the 1st of January. Long story short, it seems that if you’re a Roman emperor you can do whatever you want and that includes dictating time. These guys were clearly not politicians, but creative people in power. If I were running things back in the day, my reign would be purely defined by shenanigans. 45 B.C. I’d most likely declare war on time itself and make Taco Tuesday a religious holiday as I parade around in a carriage being pulled by one of every single type of animal while wearing 5 pairs of sunglasses. History is anything you want it to be.
If you were keeping up with my posts leading up to 2019, I was getting ready for my first conference ever. Bright lights, big stage, and right in Bretagne. The whole thing was a huge success. I never thought I’d be on stage talking about art in a second language, but here I am. 5 years ago I’d have a bad case of stage fright and also wouldn’t even dare speak french, mon tabernak. It was nice making people laugh and hopefully getting some solid points across about what it means to be an artist for the young bloods. My life isn’t always like Jack from Titanic painting all the french girls and drinking champagne everyday. There are some heavy ups and downs with anxiety and struggle sprinkled in between. The secret is to put in the hard work. Painting in Paris wasn’t given to me like a neatly wrapped gift followed by family brunch. Lots of uphill battles, but the view is worth it.
The conference video will be up sometime soon I imagine and the internet will know because I’m a cyber slut. Bretagne might be a long ways away for most of you, but there’s going to be a second one in May. Now I get to return to my hermit life in the atelier as I finish things up on Max. I realize I was very ambitious to say I had roughly 8 sessions left because the fact is they doubled. Here I am feeling like BooBoo The Fool thinking I knew something about oil painting.