I call this “Heartbleed”.
Note: This isn’t a true “Painting with Body Parts” piece. No boobies were used. Just fingers and hands.
I call this “Heartbleed”.
Note: This isn’t a true “Painting with Body Parts” piece. No boobies were used. Just fingers and hands.
This is the first drawing I have done since the Spring. I am a little rusty, but it is a good start. Plus, it was my first attempt at a dark background with highlighting.
Below is my source of inspiration: these lovely little cantaloupes from a farmer’s market I visited this past summer. As soon as I bought them, I knew I would draw them, so I set them up and took a photo.
That photo sat in my phone for months. Until the time was just right to pick up my pencil again.
I am glad I did. I missed drawing. It is so calming.
My rendering is imperfect but it just motivates me to do even better on the next drawing.
Art is everything.
My areolas are magnificent spiral galaxies
Of milk mist and carbon dust
And the abundant ejaculate of my many-coloured soul.
The golden field, barren from winter’s dessicating death rattle, awaits the arrival of Spring
With its whispering sunlight, wet newly unfurled leaves and crystal melt water
That charges across the shimmering fertile plain like wild white stallions freed from months of pitch and an absense of sound,
Their hooves pounding the earth back to life,
And in their thundering wake, ejaculating renewal onto the earth in an abundance of green and gold.
So… this happened again. I have been feeling the gold lately, and I laid it on thick to make the surface appear textured.
I wanted to use more than just my breasts, so I carefully painted my labia majora and imprinted them… with a little cherry on top… because clits are so very cherry-like, aren’t they? In more ways than one.
Don’t ask how I imprinted my pussy. Just know that it was a little awkward to position myself just right, and I am relieved that I didn’t have an audience… because they would have been laughing.
On second thought, maybe I should have had an audience… laughing is fun!
Regardless though, my pussy played a part in this one and that is all that mattered.
Then… titties and paint. Ahhh! It makes me sigh with delicious satisfaction when it starts to slowly roll down the curve of my breast and drip onto my belly and thighs. It is moments like that when I wish that my partner were as into fetishizing paint as I am because… fucking on a canvas while smothered in paint… #sexgoals.
I was quite pleased with the result and the complete mess I made of myself. I really need to invite my pussy to the painting party much more regularly.
I can’t wait for the next one!
I was feeling purple, and was feeling connected to the moon… which is no surprise as I live there much of the time, so I primed my canvas to reflect this.
I added just a touch of blue because… well… sometimes you feel a little blue too.
It’s ok to be complicated.
Sometimes I like to enjoy a moment of communion with myself and Spirit to ponder what approach to take for a particular piece.
Silver and gold seemed fitting. I am sure you can hazard a guess as to which tool I used to spread these colours about the canvas.
Paintbrushes are made of hair, aren’t they? Well, my paintbrushes are a part of me… literally.
The luminenscence of the moon dripped from my breast before I pressed into the field of silver and gold-laced purple.
This was a very fun piece to make that left me floating on a shimmering cloud of purple contentment.
This is “Purple Moon Giggle”. Happy moods make happy art.
A weekend in the country usually brings with it a painting session. This weekend was no different.
I knew that I wanted to do something on a black background. With neon colours. Because I was feeling kinda… neon. Sometimes one just feels a little brighter, a little MORE, than usual.
I pulled down my mirror because it is more fun to pour and slather paint all over my body when I can do it along with my reflection. It also makes me feel like I have company. I don’t care if that makes me seem pathetic. I really do enjoy my own company; we are best friends.
Art-making is never just art-making for me, as I have mentioned before. It is a Party-for-One with wine, candlelight, music and tonnes of giggles. Maybe it’s more of a romantic and kinky date, now that I think about it. Unless there are negative emotions and experiences in need of purging…. Then there might be some crying… or anxious sighing in the very least.
This time, the only sighing that took place was the completely satisfied/aroused kind.
I primed the canvas in black, and allowed it to dry.
I played before the mirror in the mean time.
When the canvas was mostly dry, I started pouring neon paint in pink, blue, yellow and green over my breasts. This was the first time that I had an explicitly sexual response to the paint. All others times it was expressly sensual. This time… my nether regions were… ummm… swirling sacral chakra energy.
The next time I do this I will not take a single picture so that I can completely absorb the experience rather than document it. Documenting has its purpose as the process is very much a part of my art, but sometimes it takes away from being present… and that is something I need to do more… every day.
Anyway, this part was my favourite. My fetish metre (is there such a thing) was through the roof.
I took photos of the impression process but believe it or not, they are just a little too intimate to share. There is something very sacred about that part of my process that to display it might rob it of its power. So y’all can just imagine it instead.
I am not quite sure how this image came to be. It looks like spectral fetal twins or something you might see on a Sigur Ros album cover. It looks like I might have two people living inside of me. Makes sense because that is how I often feel. Or like an alien. It’s is usually one or the other on any given day.
Regardless, I really like what came out of me.
These imprints are kind of like full body tea leaf readings… with paint rather than tea leaves. Think I can use them as a divination tool? Come one, come all to Empress TJ’s School for tarot and body paint imprint readings! It could happen. This must be a thing somewhere out there. If not… I may have something here.
The last couple of paintings (energy imprints…?) I did were pretty heavy duty. I knew that another one was brewing but it felt lighter, happier.
The colours had to be different. No more fire and burning. No more blood and rage. A shift occured after the last one.
The stuck energy wasn’t clearing from my lower two chakras (Root – safety and security; Sacral – emotions) this time, but from my Solar Plexus (yellow- personal power), Heart (green – Love) and Throat (blue – expression) chakras.
The silver stands for Spirit, and my connection with the Divine.
As always, applying the paint was very satisfying in a primal way. It always feels like I am opening a door to somewhere deep inside of Me.
I pressed different parts of my painted body onto my little canvas, transferring any stuck energy from those chakras to the external surface provided.
I was so silent. Normally, I may laugh or speak to myself (yes, I do this a lot), but this time there was a quiet radiance that enveloped me as I connected to the paint, the surface, to myself, to Spirit.
I did this while Hubs watched Dr. Strange in the background. I could have been surrounded by throngs of on-lookers and it would not have distracted me as I was in a bubble of creative expression and energetic release. It was as liberating as it was glorious.
I finished it off with some paint ejaculate… like the icing on the cake. Spurts of joy, love and open, unfiltered expression.
This is called “Joy Ejaculation”.
I wonder what the next one will be like…. I feel pink is on the horizon….
*** This post is a little heavy. ***
This past weekend, I made another art piece. Or in my case… an art therapy piece. I felt it brewing within me all week.
It was a very rough week. I do not want to say what I do as a career on this blog, but you must know that it is very challenging work that is not for the faint-hearted. There is a real risk of injury at the hands of those with whom I work, and that truth has been very much confirmed for me time and again. Last week was a motherfucking doozy.
I did not endure any major physical damage, but enough for people to take notice.
I primed my canvas in lead and gold to represent the divine alchemy taking place within me. This has been a process since birth, I suppose. For you, me and everyone. The prime is basically Me in real time.
Truthfully, I felt sullied after last week. Hence the figurative bloodshed that ensued next.
A digression: Keep in mind that I am a highly sensitive individual, so I feel things very deeply. What is business as usual for one person is downright disturbing for me. Not because I am weak but because life can feel like I am mainlining an electrical power grid half the time. And no, I am not talking about sexually… pervs… but more in regards to my central nervous system.
I feel hard, I absorb other people’s energy, and I process every frickin’ thing around me. And I need tonnes of hermit time daily to decompress and feel like me again. Digression complete.
After allowing the canvas to dry overnight, I scratched it in vermillion with my tresses.
It looked pretty cool, but it needed more “blood”, and it had to be applied with other parts of my body that had been harmed, namely hands and chest.
If I had enough paint, a big enough canvas and a private work space, I would have bathed in red and thrown myself at the canvas until it resembled a gory atrocity.
I like to keep things light and fluffy up in here. Obviously.
But seriously, making these art pieces and purging negative experiences is far better than bottling it all up.
This is called, “That Fucking Hurt”.
There will be a sequel in the near future.
I had another art session this past weekend. It was a pretty angry piece, but I feel a hell of a lot better having gone through the process of making it.
Here is a sneak peek. I didn’t get as messy as I usually do, but I still enjoyed myself… and that is all that matters. The canvas provides a place for bad energy to go so I can make space for more positive energy to grow from within.
I bought some compressed charcoal and did my first sketch this morning. It is a shower selfie I took of myself recently. I like the perspective and the shadows that appears when I put the photo through a black and white filter.
I like charcoal.
Time for yet another exciting body part art session!
I was shopping at an arts&crafts shop yesterday, and found these well-priced paints. They are for kids but they are washable and non-toxic which is important for my purposes.
As soon as I saw the gold, I knew I had to have it on me. And the purple would compliment it nicely in some capacity.
Time to strip. Because things are about to get just a little messy.
I sponged on some aqua and white onto my canvas, and dragged blue and purple across it with my hair. Why the fuck not? I didn’t feel like using a paintbrush, and I was going to take a shower later anyway, so… YOLO (yes… I just said “YOLO”… *eye roll).
This was fun. It made me feel like a little kid. So I know I was healing some deep inner child shit right then. I was healing that part of me that was afraid to take risks and be a little weird, the part afraid of failure and rejection.
This next part is the part I have been waiting for… and the experience did not disappoint. The texture of the gold paint was quite exquisite. Silky and viscous. It spread like soft butter across my skin. Divine ejaculate.
I am so glad I discovered this little fetish because it is tremendously satisfying. I also get to create something truly unique: an experience of healing through creative expression, and a painting.
It is a very primal experience, smearing paint all over my naked body and then pressing it into a canvas. It is very intimate. And vulnerable. And deeply expressive. It is like making love… or fucking (depending on my mindset).
It is also a profoundly cathartic experience. The paint produces a gateway upon my body through which the bothersome and pent-up energy trapped inside me can just leave.
The paint is more than an art material; it becomes a conduit for the stuckness, and transmutes it when it is impressed upon an external surface.
This isn’t just art, it is an act of healing and release.
And I like how it looks on the canvas.
It is called Gold Dust Woman. Because that’s the song that popped into my head when I saw the paint on the shelf.
Of a woman
She’s a dragon
Gold dust woman
~ Stevie Nicks ~
I just started a little study of the curved line. I am attempting a sketch based on a photo I took of myself.
But right now, I just need to work on simple curved lines. And I have no shortage of those.
Keep in mind that this is the first time in my almost 39 years of life that I am attempting sketching and drawing as a serious hobby. I only ever just doodled in the margins. I never gave myself a chance to actually try to be an artist. Never thought I could.
I know now that that is bullshit. Better late than never.
Shading will come later. For now… lines and lines and more lines.
If you are an artist, suggestions on what I should focus on first when learning to draw are welcome! Comment or contact me.
I have been looking forward to an art-making session since the last one. I get a bit of a high when I am playing with paint and channeling my creative energies in this manner. I could be feeling completely detached from my body and my surroundings because my nerves and my senses are taxed from overstimulation (which happens just about every day), and after a rather brief art experience, I feel grounded and whole again.
I can fucking breathe. And loosen my clenched jaw, and smile.
Using my fingers makes it an even earthier, more sensual experience than if I were to use a tool not attached to me. It serves to re-situate myself in my body rather than in my errant thoughts which prefer dangling from the rafters rather than hanging out on the ground… where sanity lives.
I don’t know why, but there is something tremendously gratifying about dragging my fingers and nails across my painted skin. It makes me think of that scene from the film The Clan of the Cave Bear* when the Great Mog-Ur declares Ayla’s (Daryl Hannah… mmmm…) totem the Cave Bear, and drags his painted fingers across the scars on her thigh which were given to her by said bear many moons prior.
It feels like a powerful act.
*Irrelevant but interesting aside: I am obsessed with The Clan of the Cave Bear (film and books) and it is probably because my own soul’s presence on this planet goes back to the Ice Age. I am most definitely a believer in reincarnation.
After imprinting my belly onto the canvas, my fingers took over and completed the piece. I was in a bit of a trance. I remember visualizing a transfer of the negativity stuck inside me to the canvas. I pushed it out through my belly button. I exhaled audibly several times, using my vocal chords to further oust the stuck energy.
I feel so very calm and happy right now.
It named itself “Fire Belly Moon”.
Art is everything.
Time to rest and repair.
I was hit with a pretty bad bout of anxiety one day this past week. An activity that helped me purge the black tar shit of hell penetrating my mind was painting. Or in my case, paint play. Perhaps it was a bit of both.
To begin, I applied some water colour designs to a canvas in preparation for the next part which I would complete that night. Water colours are divine; I love watching the colours bleed into each other.
When I was satisfied with my design, I let it dry for a few hours.
When night arrived, it was time to play… and paint again. I pulled a mirror off the wall and got started.
Of course I took a few self-indulgent selfies because… mirrors!!!
Then out came the paint and the mess. I wanted fuschia but unfortunately I didn’t have any. So I opted for fiery colours. They suited my mood. I was feeling destructive and creative all at once. The goddess Kali was very much present for this art sesh.
It was probably around this moment that I discovered I have a paint fetish. Like I could totally be into paint play that leads to very messy fucking… on a massive canvas. God. Imagine the artistic possibilities. I am gushing at the very thought. But I digress.
After painting my breasts and my belly, I pressed myself into my canvas and transfered the demon-laced acid that was brewing inside of me onto it as well. You can imagine the relief.
This is a close-up of my fire belly. The impressed paint looks a bit like hands clawing towards salvation. Kind of like what my soul had been toiling towards all damn day long.
After I achieved the desired result, I continued to play with the paint.
This erotic, sensual, art-infused playtime was the perfect antidote to my anxiety. I could breathe better and my thoughts were no longer self-damaging. Ahhhhhh!
I can’t wait for the next session. I need more canvases and paint now!
I made another painting with the help of my right breast. Or was it my left? It’s all a bit of a blur. I was very much in the zone. It felt like art therapy… and a bit of a sexy date.
Earlier in the day, I did the base of the painting in an abstract water colour composition. Water colour is kind of weird on canvas but it worked for my purposes.
Later, I painted my breast in similar colours in acrylic. When I was satisfied with my boob painting, I commenced my tit-pression (titty pression?).
I was indeed very satisfied in more than one way.
I am quite pleased with the results. It is as calming to behold as it was to make.
Stay tuned for more art with body parts!