My Cup of Tea

This is how I tried to cheer up during this November.

And last month, obviously, I wrote: "...I hope to have some more energy next month. And more to show."

Alas, I have not.

Tightrope

Perhaps life is about balance. Or, at least, the luck (or “skill”) to let the many imbalances even each other out. Therefore, perhaps therefore (subconscious at work!) I’ve supplied my tightrope walker with heavy weights – they say “16” in Chinese numbers, as some kind of homage to Monty Python and Oriental Circus in the same time. Voilà.

As we’ve had a beautiful fall. I’ve added elements of that too --- as a memory…

…as Sweet October is already on its way to yild to to the Hades of November, which all shadows, raw moist touching your soul in a most indecent manner; There’ll be yucky sludgy ground where leaves shone brightly, and barren trees with their branches reaching for the pitiless grey sky like black veins poisoned by sorrow. I hope there will be other colourful things in life that strike a balance, but I doubt.

Painter in Chains

As I am working on a huge project (that I'm not even at liberty to discuss openly) and said project is rather demanding this is what you get...

A green hand from a work in progress:

Matters are not improved by that I am very methodical about it (put the paint on, smear it about! And repeat) :

And I sort of feel like this:

...I hope to have some more energy next month. And more to show.

Delayed Lily

"Lilium martagon, the martagon lily or Turk's cap lily, is a[n] Eurasian species of lily. It has a widespread native region extending from Portugal east through Europe and Asia as far east as Mongolia [...]" according to Wikipedia.

I made it earlier last month, since then its flowers have gone, but new are on their way. I hope that there will bumble bees left to make it happy.
I'm lucky to find this piece --- time has just gone by, and I'm too busy with comissions to paint anything that I'm allowed to show.
Also, it's not July anymore, and the artist is not otherwise happy. You won't be told why.

Gentle June Breakdowns

This month, my PC didn't break down, as seen here -- the PC isn't shown on this little cardboard drawing with ballpoint and electric paint, but the feeling is: You're slowly falling apart while waiting for the computer to get well or to die, perhaps screaming your modest little screams at that spinning symbol or whatever they have to accentuate your madness. Here goes! Scary PC Recovery.

And even if your computer doesn't become a smoldering piece of rubbish, you might feel quite like waste yourself. Behold of these Suburban Tentacles

I have a great advantage. It's so utterly boring where I live, this nice and quiet Suburbia, so anything that your imagination paints on these dull vistas may explode in your zombie mind as well needed fireworks.

How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure...

--- Oliver Goldsmith

What I think that I mean with this quote is: This goes for tech too. Which brings us to Exhibit C, Message Not Sent.

You can now send texts in no time -- finding the right words might take forever.

Imagine if we did not have cell phones. But when my messenger pigeon is ready, my perfect words are there. And when the poor bird finally arrives, you shall have understood me completely, as if the long flying time didn't exist.

But we are humans, with shortcomings, pretty much like fish washed up on the shore in many respects. And thus we invent those equally imperfect machines, stranded like us, as if they could help their masters.

Sax Bug

I missed a beat the other month — no publishing got done — and the world couldn't have cared less.
One might actually say that Life Out-Surrealed me.
And while this Saxophone Bug is trying to get back on track musically, you can see for yourself what an awfully difficult walk that is.

Details; Ink and watercolour on cardboard + a secret ingredient; you probably see it larger than 1:1 if you are using a PC to browse.

I discovered quite late that I forgot to give the poor fellow a nose; but the sax might also act as a snout? Behind, you may see the hands acting feet: They are where I began — I don't take any conscious responsibility for the rest!

Set in Stone

(As explained on Bluesky:)
A surrealist may get to see a lot of things, even on daily walks through the most boring of Suburbias. Today we spotted — as yours sinc. feels a bit stuck in life — the same feeling suddenly manifesting itself in stone.
"Lemme out!"

Ordinary people without talent for such observations may just see this:

Samovar

Intended for the last of February, but my kettle has been slow to boil. I'm a little teapot, short and squat... but this is anyhow, as I described it on my Bluesky page:

"I call this little piece Samovar, for short. Worried feelings about what'll happen to Ukraine (i.e., all of us) somehow got blended in my mind into this hot brew, served with ink and watercolours on cardboard."

If things were fair, I'd get to post this on February 31:st, which is what our Third of March actually is. And here we go microscopic and take a look at the feet of this beast - - -

- - - Poor fellows.
Help Ukraine if you can. Before it's too late.
The sea-bird in tatters is harder to explain, but assuredly part of the general angst. Even closer up:

- - - as the miniature isn't even letter size. I sort of like the miniature part of miniature painting, the only time when I feel that anything is small and manageable enough, not overwhelming, not underwhelming (the picky parts are excitingly tricky) but simply ...whelming, just whelming enough.

Bored Hospital Sketch

So it goes. Yours sincerely was allowed some kind of Conté pen and watercolours. The motif might speak for itself.