Washing Machine

I painted something tonight, woo. Thank goodness, I was feeling rather unproductive the last few days. It's a very small acrylic painting of a girl sitting on a dryer/washer smoking. For some weird reason I was thinking about it and I've smoked on alot of washers/dryers in my day. Laundry rooms are often good places to smoke.

I like to make art about smoking, that's what alot of my fourth year independant work was based on. Because smoking is such a dichotomy. It's very social (as Sarah said to me tonight: smoking is an amazing networking tool), you love to smoke when you smoke. There's nothing more comforting when you're upset or delicious with a coffee. It's a wonderful five minutes you take just for yourself to relax. You define yourself by it. You are a smoker, and it's such a big part of your life. It's a lifestyle. But at the same time you loathe yourself for it. You feel less healthy, you are potentially giving yourself cancer, you are fully aware anyone who doesn't smoke is judging you. Sometimes you are ashamed of how frequently you are smoking even with other smokers around. Being a smoker is a constant internal battle in which you both love/hate it and a little bit hate yourself for loving it. It's my biggest vice by far. Of all of the things I've picked up, it's the one I've never put down.

Alas here is the painting. The picture quality is terrible (damn I need a scanner), it's more vibrant and less blurry and weird. Which is sad that I don't have a better picture because you can't see all the best brushstrokes. But all the same here it is: