March 13th, 2003

flesh

But the walls need those pink rabbits

I'm in the mood for art. I've been staring at black and white photos all day and i've got the itch. It's like a tingle under my skin... the best thing I can compare it to is feeling horny. Yet, when I consider that i've spent the afternoon staring at images of Tokyo office buildings i'd rather not equate it to being aroused. That'd be... wrong. On many levels.

Erm, as to what it is. Well. I'll just put that to one side right now. As to what it's inspiring me to do, that brings up another issue. I want to decorate the walls with art. I want to be surrounded by it. I need it. I want photos, sketches, clippings - the whole nine yards. I want the studio environment I left behind 2 years ago.

But. Oh, yes, there's a but. These aren't my walls. This isn't my house. I'm limited to what I can display and where I can display it. I'm feeling cramped, hemmed in and confined. I can feel this tingle growing into a buzz... but that buzz is going to have to stay locked inside.

If I want my own place then the most logical step would be to sell some more of my work. Ask any artist what that feels like. "Sure, i'll part with a painting I spent 3 days slaving over. I'll readily exchange those hours of agonised perfection for a measly amount of cash. I'll hand it over to someone I don't know. Never to see it again. Sure. I'll do that..." Just incase you hadn't got it pegged, that was sarcasm, kids.

It's not a good situation, the old catch 22.

I fear I might spontaneously combust.
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