(no subject)
It took me two days to get into a painting, and I felt a fair bit of anguish at that. In the end I think I was frightened that I had forgotten how to do it. I can't think of anything feeling worse than knowing you've fucked a painting up, or that it's too banal or uninteresting. It's ridiculous, I know, and it sounds like one of those cliched artistic behaviors, but this really happens and is accepted as natural among the type. I sincerely wish I didn't care, because it hurts.
I don't want to talk about the painting too much, because then I might not finish the thing. I am more interested in acting as if I paint all the time, and it's normal and it's not even worth mentioning. Though it was difficult, and I worked smaller just to feel a bit more could be accomplished, and I worked from an old subject- the thing I can't seem to get away from- the self portrait. Da dee da, nothing to see here, just A. who paints all the time painting another...
Yesterday we went to the Border's in the mall. This is inexplicable, because we could have easily gone to the detached Border's. I took a coupon and a gift card and was looking for a good summer novel (for me, that's generally an intelligent love story of some sort.) I left with a copy of Modern Painters, which has had me chuckling ever since, and the new Paul Auster novel, which isn't the book I'd expected to purchase. Paul Auster is creepy, good, arty and dark.
Laylah was a pill, going into the experience of the mall believing she should have been bought something extra (some tee shirts, and shoes that she doesn't need.) I went to Old Navy for $5 flip flops, because I have none, and she has three pairs. She said I take all the turns buying clothes and acted snotty. I wear ratty tank tops and cardigans with pills on them, and this just doesn't pass for work. She regularly gets new clothes because she is growing, and we want her to have nice things. But the teenage concerns and dramas are starting, and she is really on the fence about it all. Certain of her friends act smug and competitive. I have encouraged her to move away from them and toward the kids she finds more interesting and kind. Money is tight, so we're all going to have to change our attitudes about new clothes and shoes asap.
I honestly felt the weekend was successful. Only one day of negative feelings that I wouldn't even call a depression. Mostly I drove around in the summer-like weather looking at houses nestled in the woods and considering my future. A common misconception some people have about me is that I am highly adaptable and enjoy change. But those close to me know it rattles me as much as anyone, and sometimes makes me incredibly insecure. As I was driving around I realized that I really can't tell where I will be moving to or what is coming next, but I am less afraid that it will be worse than before. I spend an incredible amount of time and energy feeling frightened of ruin. Having been through that experience a number of times, I can conjure up some very real feelings about it just when things are about to get good. But this time, something feels different. I know how to take care of myself, and I know I do well on my own. In three months I could be living on a property with a barn, at the base of the Berkshire mountains, or I could be living in a residential neighborhood, or the city. Any of those would be fine with me. In a few years, I could be looking to change jobs again, and that's ok too. Anything that happens now, this week, this month, I can put up with for that long. But chances are good that whatever happens next will be better than before...
I don't want to talk about the painting too much, because then I might not finish the thing. I am more interested in acting as if I paint all the time, and it's normal and it's not even worth mentioning. Though it was difficult, and I worked smaller just to feel a bit more could be accomplished, and I worked from an old subject- the thing I can't seem to get away from- the self portrait. Da dee da, nothing to see here, just A. who paints all the time painting another...
Yesterday we went to the Border's in the mall. This is inexplicable, because we could have easily gone to the detached Border's. I took a coupon and a gift card and was looking for a good summer novel (for me, that's generally an intelligent love story of some sort.) I left with a copy of Modern Painters, which has had me chuckling ever since, and the new Paul Auster novel, which isn't the book I'd expected to purchase. Paul Auster is creepy, good, arty and dark.
Laylah was a pill, going into the experience of the mall believing she should have been bought something extra (some tee shirts, and shoes that she doesn't need.) I went to Old Navy for $5 flip flops, because I have none, and she has three pairs. She said I take all the turns buying clothes and acted snotty. I wear ratty tank tops and cardigans with pills on them, and this just doesn't pass for work. She regularly gets new clothes because she is growing, and we want her to have nice things. But the teenage concerns and dramas are starting, and she is really on the fence about it all. Certain of her friends act smug and competitive. I have encouraged her to move away from them and toward the kids she finds more interesting and kind. Money is tight, so we're all going to have to change our attitudes about new clothes and shoes asap.
I honestly felt the weekend was successful. Only one day of negative feelings that I wouldn't even call a depression. Mostly I drove around in the summer-like weather looking at houses nestled in the woods and considering my future. A common misconception some people have about me is that I am highly adaptable and enjoy change. But those close to me know it rattles me as much as anyone, and sometimes makes me incredibly insecure. As I was driving around I realized that I really can't tell where I will be moving to or what is coming next, but I am less afraid that it will be worse than before. I spend an incredible amount of time and energy feeling frightened of ruin. Having been through that experience a number of times, I can conjure up some very real feelings about it just when things are about to get good. But this time, something feels different. I know how to take care of myself, and I know I do well on my own. In three months I could be living on a property with a barn, at the base of the Berkshire mountains, or I could be living in a residential neighborhood, or the city. Any of those would be fine with me. In a few years, I could be looking to change jobs again, and that's ok too. Anything that happens now, this week, this month, I can put up with for that long. But chances are good that whatever happens next will be better than before...