Did the black background today. The flesh isn't finished, nor the path beneath her feet. I'm going to try glazing over the black with different transparent colors, once it's dry. Got to try to paint a nimbus around the flame of the candle as well.
Last night I wanted to die. Told my husband I wanted to die. He said that I have responsibilities. He needs me. My animals need me. He said that I can't live for myself alone.
When I think about killing myself my mind turns to my art. I am ashamed that I'm just not good enough. If I could only have a sign that my art is worth something. If only someone would buy a painting from the gallery. But I fear that it isn't going to happen. People will see my art but not want to possess it or take it home. They won't want to live with it. It isn't treasure. It isn't valuable. It doesn't speak to a stranger. I lack an edge. I lack some quality. What I need you can't buy and you can't learn. It is supposed to come from inside. I'm doomed to be mediocre.
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