Les Pères
I'm getting used to working nights, and not just working, but working hard. It feels good, even if my body feels terrible afterward. Last night was filled with interesting conversations. I almost forgot about all the people I've loved here who I will not see for a long time, or possibly ever again. Art school is also sliding out of focus and I've engaged more in writing, having realized that I'm a less awful writer than painter. You know, you grow to love what you work on most, and sometimes those hours sneak up on you and you wake up to realize that, while you think you've dedicated your life to one thing, you've been completely immersed in another.
Inspiration is not hard to find in this strange country, but even more motivating is this giblet I found about a pulp novel my grandpa published in the fifties. I had completely forgotten that he'd published two books along with all the other weird accomplishments my dad boasts of (almost being in the cavalry, being crushed under heavy objects, rigging elaborate booby traps to scare his younger son).
Here's to Jada!
Inspiration is not hard to find in this strange country, but even more motivating is this giblet I found about a pulp novel my grandpa published in the fifties. I had completely forgotten that he'd published two books along with all the other weird accomplishments my dad boasts of (almost being in the cavalry, being crushed under heavy objects, rigging elaborate booby traps to scare his younger son).
Here's to Jada!