I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

When A Good Artist Goes Bad. A Suicide Note From A (Formerly) Fine Artist.

Actual painting.  I am willing to bet the following note is scrawled on the back of this painting:
By the time you read this I will be dead.

Hopefully I will do it in a dramatic fashion. But, clutching an asp to your breast isn't as easy as one would think. Your smart phone doesn't have a deadly viper locator; there isn't an asp app.

The thing is, I had talent. I had big dreams, I was going to be the next Picasso. The next "it" artist. I was going to set the art world on fire.

My parents struggled to send me to an exclusive well regarded art school. I was the top of my class. My teachers praised me. I won juried contests. I was going to be a rock star.

And then it all went wrong, and this is what I am reduced to. Painting pictures of pomeranians in cowboy hats. My life is forfeit. As an artist, once you go to that dark place, there is no coming back.

As you see, I had no choice but to take my own life. Now if I can just find some hemlock.