Ever get suddenly inspired to get up off your hot cross buns and just make something? That's what happened here. I had once again lost my mojo (losing my Abby and other recent events didn't help matters) and just didn't feel compelled to set foot in my craft room.
While down in Torrance, CA and during one of my fathers recent 4 hospital stays, I cruised over to a favorite used book store. I picked up a biography on ROBERT MAPPLETHORPE and was utterly mesmerized for a snippet each day. Something about this intense, immensely talented (and oh yes, incredibly controversial) creature unearthed my missing mojo. I whipped out my paints and got cracking. It all came together effortlessly for about 45 minutes and then I came to a complete and sudden halt. Thar she blows, oops, I mean, sits. I'm not sure where she is going at the moment or what I will be doing with her next. I only know that she is not finished.
Of course I have no way of truly knowing, but something tells me that Mapplethorpe was never truly happy. A talented, tormented soul with the ability to soar way out of the box. Sometimes I find myself wanting to fling brightly colored paint on the walls after setting this book down. To just do something, to flood the room with sunshine.
I'm taking my time with Mapplethorpe having reached the section in the book where he is slowly growing ill with HIV. Although I am already full well aware of where this story is headed, I am not quite ready to do there.
I feel as if I'm watching a bad horror movie. Y'know that type that makes you want to holler "Stop! Don't open that door!" If only I could somehow shout loud enough and warn him not to catch AIDS. As if.