When is the last time I really blogged? I have written little bits here and there but really made words ...conversations?
I have no been my honest self for a while here. I didn't want to alienate you from me. I am the Mad Painter after all. El Pintor. I can't hold back the truths that eat at me. I am sad. I am sad because my name is Jawara and in that I get overlooked by racist gallery managers. They see me as not this White guy who is not as good as me with a brush but reminds them other their artist fathers. It eats at me and makes me want to scream. I'm at this point where I'm begging Afro-Latino galleries to give me space in places only Afro-Latinos will mostly only see. It's like if Miles Davis was only allowed to play in his neighborhood bar for all his life. I hate feeling like a fish in a bowl. I need more than that to be fulfilled.
We are all so much....I am so much more than a secret brush. If I thought it would help I would graffiti everywhere and give all my art to all of you all over the world forever. Shit, I want to be like @rambo and have a million people want to see me just be me. the joy she has and the joy we feel for her joy is amazing. I want to make a painting that does that to the world.
Hell, I love how @radeo takes photos. Her blogs go on for days and @bully too. They have this way of making that focues your eyes on a flick of red that is more powerful then a raw emotion could ever be by itself. It is incredible. honestly, I have no idea how to get there. It can't just be they are beautiful women. They have told stories with such charisma that if I had no eyes at all I would be blown away still.
I just feel like I'm on this path and if I could just figure out a tiny secret I could really be something and make my daughter proud of her daddy.
My inks and brushes feel like my kids now and I worry I am letting them down at 34. They are my blood and my bones. Cranked and dirty.
not enough tea or pot in one night...
I feel my bones need Winter to recharge.