So, I went and spent too much money on some paint supplies today.  I’m pretty happy about it, even though I can’t paint to save my life.  I indulge in my fantasies of being able to get something recognizable to come off the end of a brush from me every couple of years or so, and it’s always amusing at best.

I have never had great talent for visual media.  I take okay pictures, when I’m of a mind, but for the most part I guess I’m kind of untalented.  I occasionally pull off some interesting feats, including a pretty decent water color tree I made yonks ago and haven’t seen since.  I’ve also done some really dreamy abstract oil pastel work, although it’s abstract in a talented toddler sense and not in any real artistic sense.

I don’t know what it is about me that drives me to do something I’m fairly untalented at.  I freak out normally when I screw up something (even some tiny thing) and I can drive myself into panic attacks if I write something and it just comes out all wrong.  Maybe I like the freedom of being able to screw up without knowing it for a screw up.

I dunno, but getting my hands dirty sure is fun.