Leather, Neon, and the Art of Being a Walking Contradiction
This one started like a challenge. Not from anyone in particular, unless you count the part of me that said, “Hey, what if we make the background look like leather but then slap some neon poppies on top and see what happens?” To which my brain, running on four cups of tea and one emotional spiral, replied, “Hell yes, we ride at dawn.”
And so it began. A sponge, a palette knife, and the kind of paint strokes that tell you I am working through something. The result is a background that could pass for distressed leather, the kind you'd find on an old biker jacket or a well-loved couch that’s seen a few lives and still smells like a memory. It’s moody. It’s grounded. It’s giving ‘don’t mess with me’ vibes. And then come the poppies.
Hot pink, translucent, unpredictable. They are not here to blend in. They are here to be. Sharp edges and delicate petals coexisting like it’s completely normal. And maybe it is. Because the truth is, I am this painting.
The painting is me, a walking contradiction. I am the chaos and the calm, the bold color and the moody undercurrent. I want solitude and connection. I like velvet mornings and metallic rage. I want to cry and then organize my sock drawer alphabetically. I contain multitudes, and none of them signed a lease; they all squat rent-free in my head.
The poppies weren’t even supposed to be neon. They emerged like a middle finger to predictability. I thought I was being subtle, but subtlety got shoved aside by the same part of me that impulse buys 500 paint pens and decides to rearrange the studio at 1 a.m. That part said, “Nah, we’re lighting it up.” And to be honest, it was right.
There’s something deeply satisfying about putting softness where it doesn’t belong. Not to balance the piece, ugh, no, this isn’t yoga, it’s to claim space. It’s to say: I can be bold and delicate. I can wear pink and still win the fight. I can have a leathery background and still bloom.
So if you’ve ever felt like you don’t make sense, like your pieces are mismatched or your vibe shifts hourly, congrats, you’re alive. You’re art. You’re neon poppies growing out of emotional armor. And that’s not a contradiction. That’s poetry with teeth.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go texture some more leather and see what other feelings try to sneak into the paint.
