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KGBigelow In reply to LadyRhianwriter [2011-02-14 16:38:00 +0000 UTC]

oh damn. I painted this back in 2006 - roughly three years after my dad cracked and killed my mom. This came completely out of the blue - I had a good early life, my mom was a social worker and my dad was a good one - he worked as an illustrator at the Indianapolis Star for twenty+ years, and he was a funny guy. But when people hit retirement age it does funny things to their brain (it's hard to really describe the deterioration). When that happened, I had to take a crash course in self-reliance if I didn't want my brother to become a ward of the state (oh boo hoo, I was 20 and he was 17) Anyway, at the time I was feeling a lot of fucked up things and mistaking frustration with hate, affection for perversion and so forth. I'm not saying I got over this bullshit, by any stretch - if anything I have learned how to wrangle these emotions and deal with them like an adult - by getting fucked up and doing fucked up shit. That was meant to be a joke, but from 2003 all the way into 2007 even I actually drew very little - I kept telling myself out of guilt that I wasn't good enough to validate everything my parents had given me. I wanted to work - I wanted to finish up at Herron and be an artist, but it felt like I had oppressively heavy chains of ice around my back and hands all the time. Only when i enduldged in a violent outburst (like in this painting, or that time I pushed a street preacher off his stool, declaring that "GOD is only breeding us for food.") did I feel free from it.
At some point in the summer of 2010 - a few months after my dad died in prison I somehow magically figured out that it's not entirely my fault that shit's fucked up (like a literal, entire universe of variables that were neither good or bad, nor could I ever have any control over most of them), and what makes you a 'good' person is not WHAT you're feeling, it's how you deal with those feelings. In this way I was able to focus more clearly on the perfection of my art.
The rest is as life - both infinitely profound and meaningless.
I'm a little high right now, but I really appreciate the sympathy.

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LadyRhianwriter In reply to KGBigelow [2011-02-14 17:20:48 +0000 UTC]

Well, I had a really good family, too. My mom and dad loved me, and still did, but they couldn't help with the crap at school. Although my mom, too, is dead (she died of a Parkinsons-like disease. Essentially, not Parkinsons, but identical in effect. She started out with weakness, and ended up with no sense of balance, fell alot and was confined to a wheelchair for the last three years of her life, cared for by me and my dad), my dad is still around, and I take care of him, which is a kick in the teeth for any child. The parent who was strong and cared for you now needs your help to keep going. If my dad didn't have me, he'd be living on McDonalds and icecream, and probably would have lost the house (he has a strong tendency to ignore bills until they are way past due).

I, at least, never got into drinking or drugs. My life was already out of control. I did the opposite and tend to be something of a control freak. I would hate the thought of getting high on drugs or drinking myself into oblivion. My control of myself is sometimes all I have. I'd never willingly give that up. I can't even really laugh at myself unless I make the joke.

Anyhow, you're welcome. :hugs.:

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