Tag Archives: tortured artist

I WILL KEEP DANCING: Grace. Happy Mother’s Day to my little boy.


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Do you like art and the creative process? Does the “eccentric” life of the “typical” artist intrigue you? Scare you? Amuse you? Inspire you? Read on…

Allo allo!

I would like to cordially invite you to join my ARTISTS’ group on Facebook:


It is a private, invitation-only group,  but if you request membership, an admin will approve you as long as you’re not a bot.

Not only do I post my own work and artistic musings, as well as upcoming shows and #contemporary #art news, but I have SO MANY uber-talented friends worldwide, whose work I love to share with the public every day.

You could be one of them! All art is the soul, ergo beautiful.

So far the group has almost 4k  (!!! — so grateful) members, so if you would like to either be a voyeur or an exhibitionist, please be my guest.

To me, my readers and followers are all VIPs.

Try it out and see if you like it…you can always leave! Ain’t no Hotel California, lol…

Feel free to also follow me on #Twittter: @jjgrape.

(I heretofore take no responsibility for any profanities or insanities contained therein. Twitter is fun! No rules. Just what we painters like best.)  😀

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OPHELIA SWIMS. 2013. Oil, gold leaf, tears, and poppy dust on wood. 18x24

It’s my happy place — besides the library, the easel, or in front of my iMac. 🙂

Above are a few samplings of my paintings, but this group is dedicated to sharing the work of my many artist friends from all around the globe: a virtual #gallery of sorts! What fun.

(But it is strictly bring your own wine and cheese… 😦  Sincere apologies. Hehe.)



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Filed under and angels, art, books, children, cool stuff, diary, duality, dysfunction, enlightenment/spirit, existentialism, film, food/recipes, humor, imperfection, life, love, mental illness, MUSIKKKKK, nature, painting, people, photography, poetry, prose, rabbits, random, sadness, saints, sinners, smokin", stupidity, The Good Life

QUEEN SIZE. 1998. Prismacolor and ballpoint on paper. 6×9.

QUEEN SIZE. 1998. Prismacolor and ballpoint on paper. 6x9.

Scribbled this one while hiding in the ladies’ room from 500 attendees at my first exhibition, “WAKING/DREAMING” in 1998, at SIDEWALK CAFE in NYC’s East Village.
I’m kind of reclusive, lol.

An anti-social social butterfly.   😉


March 22, 2014 · 5:56 pm

A Letter from a Fellow Tortured Painter

an angel wrote to me today – from one painter to anotherout of respect, she shall remain anonymous — but her words to me today meant so much, and were eerily reminiscent of “Letters to a Young Poet”, by Rainer Maria Rilke (if you haven’t read that yet get yer butt to Barnes and Noble!!!!):

If we can not see- we feel our way through the
darkness… run our hands over a face so we can know
it. If we can not remember a song we hum the tune. If
we do not know the language we gesture or draw a
universal language. To communicate becomes a need for some as raw as survival.
There are days when the articulation is easy.I look people dead in the eye,clothes fit just right. Others it is painful to even make any eye contact at all. This is what it is like to paint.
Yes. I know the torment, the depression you speak of. I am touched & honored that you confided in me this experience. I know it like I know my mouth my hand my belly. I am feeling it too.
What has changed for me is the hunger. Last spring I quit fighting it. I used to question if I could be a painter for a very long time. Now I have given myself to painting. It is my solace. I do not approach the canvas only if I feel inspired. I approach it in the same way I approach drinking water or eating…it is a must. Some days I dont feel like it. I do it anyway. I also realize there is a good deal required besides the brush. So my dear friend you are painting when you reach out to others, or search for inspiration, or work on PR. I have a young child so much of the time I am not in the studio I am at home. So I observe. I look here and find inspiration in others work. I study an expression or the way light falls or the feeling of sorrow.
These months are always the most difficult for me. I am learning to sit with my grief…anger…depresson to know that they will pass. My grandmother taught me well when i was young. She had one of the most difficult lives i could imagine. She gave shamelessly. She loved and cared much like a saint. When she was troubled she would work. She would force herself to put her hands in the dirt of her garden or clean or make something…so she could see how possible change is.
I bleieve our idenity is vast. I mean i really beleive it with all my heart. We our much more than we can fathom. So you paint….amazing paintings. But you are always cherished even in the times you are still.
New York must be very cold. It is very cold here too.
My daughter and i made pancakes & spaghetti out of Play-Doh last night. I was trying to write you back but she was impatient. I thought of you.
MMM that Peas&Carrots painting is genius.

in good faith,

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