On wednesday I woke up way too early for my internship so I grabbed some Dunkin and sat on the furthest bench by the bay. It was a bit windy but I really appreciated the half hour of down time to just settle down and wipe my mental slate to start fresh for the day.
I realize that I have the most bizarre vernacular. When I speak I try and use random vocabulary or throw in old phrases and words but I feel like half the time I just end up just seeming confused about what era I grew up in. I said something to my room mate and she looked at me and said “you know we’re room mates, you don’t have to speak so formally to me.” To which I responded “sorry, I don’t do it on purpose, thats just how I speak.”
I’ve been brainstorming a lot of ideas for different pieces and I keep getting really excited about them, but I’m struggling to actually getting around to them. I give myself plenty of time to sleep, smoke and drink with friends and work, but I don’t allot myself the time to do what I love, which to me is so strange. I had an epiphany the other day that I can’t get better unless I fuck around with materials, and my uncertainties [in not only myself but in the materials] are the only thing holding me back. I’m the only one who can buck up and just deal with it. And fuck everyone else. I have been finding lately though that I’m a lot more comfortable with my work and process, and that I’m ever so slowly growing into my myself as an artist.