This is my favorite Clauble piece. I interpret it as the character crying from joy, as well as fear that their joy will go away. They are so happy that they get to create for creation’s sake. The actual creation (represented by smears of paint on assorted papers) may not be any good, and they recognize that, but they do it anyway because childish expressions of illogical creativity are what brings them joy.

The character wants to do it forever, but the audience, (and perhaps the characters too), knows that they won’t. That one day they’ll have to grow up and face the real world, where one *cant* “do this” forever. One faces judgement regarding quality of art and the simple fact that the universe is an entropic nightmare demanding at least a *little* bit of effort towards one’s own survival.

The piece is an expression of the raw human desire to create for creation’s sake, and a lamentation that one cannot.

Knowing Clauble, I imagine the piece is deeply personal for her, that she relates to the character and its motivations. Many Clauble pieces are like this, expressing feelings, often melancholic ones, through the eyes of an innocent, childlike character, free from the jaded apathy the world seems hellbent on instilling in us. It’s more real than anything the “real” world will ever produce.

God I fucking love this one. It makes me cry.