Sooooo weekend!

I love working in the studio when there is one one else in there, especially when I'm working with oil sticks. I know that seems like a weird statement to make, and fuck it, it kinda is. There is, however, something about oil sticks that I really really like. It's like using oil paint, except someone who only has drawing skills and very limited painting skills (read: me) can use them. Oil sticks also smell like oil paints, which is another weird thing to say, but I have always loved that smell. It's kinda like how some people like the smell of gasoline. I like the smell of turpenoid and oil paints. Anyway, there's something really nice about standing in a corner of a darkened drawing studio, working on a self portrait for class, and listening to really really amazing music, while getting one's hands completely covered in oil paint. My hands were grey for the better part of Saturday. I love having artist's hands. I wouldn't even attempt to wash off the oil paint were it not, you know, cancerous.

It's really strange how much of the media that I work with for class causes some sort of lasting health damage. It's as though some overlord of the whole world decided that, not only would artists make very little money and then have to spend that very little money on art supplies, but the very art supplies that the artists purchased with their blood, sweat, and tears, would eventually give them cancer.

Gotta love dramatic irony. Well, except that artists know that the materials are cancerous now, so that sort of removes any possibility of it being dramatic irony.

Shut up, it's early.