I'm getting this recurring sense of feeling grotesque. Like, physically. I think it has something to do with my lifestyle, my residence (crummy) and perhaps the fact that i'm spinning so many plates that I'm not concentrating on any of them very much so I just look and feel like a freak spinning loads of plates and not really doing anything else except that. Humph.

I didn't want this blog to be a whinge spot so let me continue with something more worthy.

Umm....

just had a really good discussion with a lady that came into the gallery who teaches as Central St Martins and she's inspired me to set up some conveners on my course. Thats what i'm missing and i'll bitch about it to anyone who'll listen, so i might as well just do something about it. and get better at talking about my work.

my work.
jesus h. christ almighty god in heaven i don't know what i'm doing or why or anything. its a positive nightmare.


oooooh reading Lanark (although I definitely lost it last night in a gay club) and its an amazing portrayal of a dystopian future/past (it was written in 1981) that is written in a very unusual way, which is conversational maybe? I don't know, i'm only about 50 pages in but alls i know is its a comfortable read and its making me think philosophically and thats never a bad thing from a book.

oh i'm tired. I am going to write this over the course of the next 4 hours.

i like rachel cattles way of getting complex ideas in writing down in a visual way, although I didn't think that the visuals were nearly as engaging or interesting as the writing, so that could potentially be a flaw.

a 14 year old girl I know from birmingham just said this of her first experience of getting drunk and forgetting what she did and "nearly loosing everyone"

"well my man went home, and then i apparently was huggin his mate and kissin him on the cheek and then i was in aldi i dont no haw i got ther and i got told tht i was screamin "becky we all no you fuckin cheated on haydon with ross" whne she hasnt and becky is my best mate, and then aparently i hit molly and steph my mates. and some more stuff hapendd god it was awfull !!"

realised that my response had to not be too patronizing, but also responsible and warn her of the ills of drinking. but shit, i can't be a hypocrit. why just last night I lost a library book and the charger for my laptop in a club. I mean seriously, there can be no high horsing in this situation.

"writing about art is like dancing about architecture" - elvis costello

i like it. but it does nothing for my already fragile ego that is gently accepting that that IS my art, a talent, even if it is a reluctantly accepted one. I must be good at it! A complete stranger said so in response to a review I wrote. So there. But I must branch out more. To new heights as they say.

But oh what to say, what to do. where to do it and WHY. phew.

risk risk risk. i hate my face, i think it holds me back from....oh my god, excuses, on here? To noone? unbelievable. wow, only 50 minutes left of work, thats odd. Today has gone really quickly.
Visions. Of the future, from where? The endless depth or mass of black matter that is my mind gives me the impression of falling, not impression, more of a sensation. falling through my mind and I can't grasp onto anything cos theres nothing to grasp onto in my mind. its immaterial. not disimilar to a black whole.

yeah. fin