paintbrushes and shadiness

things that i'm sort-of-doing but i don't like to talk about, but i will talk about them nevertheless, badly: today's edition - painting.
my friend lari took me to 'the magic store' (wait a minute, there were 2 stores, which was the magic one?) to buy colors, brushes, canvas, all the works. then she seemed surprised that i hadn't mentioned that in the blog but i posted pics of us having lemonade on a terrace instead. i mean, we know it's not because i'm a deeply private person, who will not open up about their artistic endeavours, right?
i don't know how to talk properly about what's going on. posting pictures instead of words is easy up to a point, then you start only posting the nice pictures, and then you stop posting anything because why.

this month, painting has been a refuge for me, primarily from writing, but also from the big bad world. a 'challenge' i could take because no one expects any visual art production from me...and in the end it looks good on paper or as a filler for an ulterior story. 'you know the summer i was back in cluj and painting...?' - nope, honey, that summer is just in your head.
and it's nearly not summer anymore again, and some things have to come to and end. among them not necessarily my painting activities, but my weird silence, definitely.
here goes:  i started painting in montreal and i associate the carefree feeling of applying paint to canvas with 1)being productive and alive and 2)montreal, obviously. here, i would have never thought that i can make a painting. i don't even want to bring the term 'art' into the mix. but before oil/acryllics, i had been a portraitist (pencil on paper) in my teenage years. see, it's always the people watching for me.
some things stop for a while, and then they restart and it's like they'd always been part of who you are.

while i paint, this goes through my mind:
1. with some things, i know the outcome from the start. i won't stop because it's sad. this is who i am.
2. i don't believe in revelations. they are just the things one hasn't learned yet, that appear as new and shocking, then they fucking reappear as new and shocking for the xxxth time. enough, i say.