monday

[I am gonna attempt to post one for every day this week]

Monday mornings. Things I hate:

1. Running out of hot water in the shower because I am so sleepy I don't notice how long I spend in it. Trying to wash off soap in the cold is a disgusting procedure.
2. Wanting to wear 10 sweaters after a cold shower, only to realize later you're way over-dressed for the weather and sweat in your 10 sweaters all day.
3. One part of me wanting to eat nothing at all and another part craving mountains of food.
4. Eyes being droopy.
5. Planning a great day ahead, involving coming to work early and getting things done. Then falling for my cat and spending all the time on tumblr with her on my lap until I absolutely must leave the house.

Things I enjoy:

1. Working only 2 hours and having work before class makes it seem minimal.
2. The start of the week. So many great days stand before me!
3. Organizing in my mind what painting and when I will do this week.
4. If I wake up before 9am, I like the feeling of not being rushed before work.
5. I keep writing "weel" instead of "week".

Tyler, the Creator and Salem make my day happieee =^.^=

i can't relax

Something really pissed me off today, or just lately.
How people say: take a day off, relax, take a day for yourself.
In all seriousness, I can't do that. I am here to live life. I can't take a day off to relax. I can't spend the evening/night in my pajamas surfing the internet looking at cats and reading funny articles. I can do it for maybe an hour but after that hour I am up and doing stuff. Even watching a movie is hard because I almost feel like I am wasting my life.
And perhaps there are people that can afford to waste their lives, but I am not one of them. I don't have a lot of time left to be the best artist that I can be. There will never be enough hours in a day to perfect myself to perfection.
I don't care if someone else is relaxing and stuff, because that's their life and their choice. But don't push your life advice on me. And more than that, don't fucking complain about how life sucks *tear* because *tear* you're running out of time. It's your goddamn fault: admit it. Live with it. Gah I don't know.

Why am I being mean? Why am I picking fights with people? Why why why.
I want to be a really nice person. But I feel like I am failing lately. I've disappointed myself in certain friendships, and certain friendships have disappointed me.
I hate liars. Don't lie please.
I hate ass-kissers. Stop kissing my ass, it's not pleasant.
I hate spineless creepy crawlies. Just get away from me ew.
I hate people with no personality.
I hate dramatic primadonnas unless they are trapped in the body of a cute black cat by the name of Panther.
I hate when people ask really dumb questions in class. I feel embarrassed for them.

And after all that, why did I eat three slices of bread at 1am???

Okay better

Yesterday was a bit of a low point. This morning I woke up, wrote my paper, wrote an artist statement (for like the 50th time), studied for a quiz and worked in my studio. I think it's the evenings that make one so upset.

I am not the first person to have noticed that. Especially if the days are especially sunny it makes you feel happier inside somehow, like as if sunshine comes from inside of you.

I read somewhere once that you get out of life what you put into the world. I don't know if it's true or not, but I like that phrase. It makes you want to do better things in life and be a better person to others. More polite, more caring, less judgmental.

Japan - I really want to go there.
It's infuriating how little people know about the world and how stupid they are. Sometimes they don't even hide their stupidity and it drives me crazy, but today is a good day so I held back the negativity and "didn't put it out into the world". Someone asked me about my hand but I didn't want to tell them what happened. Let's be mysterious. This girl in my class pointed to a Japanese ink drawings and asked if it's a chair drawn... Goddamn fucking retard it's the gates that we've been shown in class so many times before. And yet "but why is it soo small". It's like grandma why are your ears so big. So I can hear you better.

Whatever, what is the point of trying to make people understand art when they ask the dumbest questions possible. Why is the grass not green in this painting but yellow. Why is her face red. Why is she giving him an apple. Why is there a purple cloud. I don't know... why do you even exist? Can we not leave at least a tiny amount of preconceived perceptions at home at least for one goddamn day? This is why artists don't explain their art any more - there is no point. The audience makes no effort to get rid of the standardized values that have been implemented on them from birth. They can't take the glasses of general ignorance off. Nobody wants to get rid of their preconceived ideas, ideals and norms of society. That is why art is becoming a more and more exclusive "club". VIP only.

I'm a big fan of Gerhard Richter lately:

loner

Sometimes I don't find the time to think any more. This is mental exhaustion. I have to write an essay on the Transformative Power of Art and nothing comes to mind because I have exhausted myself so much. There is nothing in my brain except an empty space. This empty space drives me insane.

I am listening to the Album Leaf tonight. It's sort of cosmic, but not too cosmic. It's just background sounds. I like background sounds. I need background sounds more than ever right now.

I've been feeling a strange void for a while now. I find it easy to continue painting, but anything else is a block for me. I try to write and nothing comes out. I try to talk and instead I hear silence. When I read I smudge words together into a tangled web. And when I try to watch something I get incredibly bored and switch to doing something else. Like Basquiat, I like to multi-task. I want every noise possible around me - the noises of the house, the AC, the cats meowing, the music and the TV. I want to be surrounded by heaps of crap and work on something else entirely. But it's not happening to me lately. Nothing is inspiring. Nothing is worthy of my attention. I am withdrawing from the real world into the world of my night dreams, day dreams and thoughts. But when I try to recall any of them - they all disappear as if there never was anything inside my head, just an empty space.

I am afraid to end up with an empty space for the rest of my life.

pandemonium

I am always recognized for my designs, not for who I am. I am expected to be an artist and sometimes people forget I am also a human being with emotions. Being an artist is sometimes a curse.

This is a very loosely based quote from Mondo.

I can totally relate to this. I think sometimes people forget I am not just a machine whipping out art all the time. Meh.

gah

Explanation. Humiliation. Vomit. Tears.

I am sick of Planet Earth. I want to leave it. I want to really leave it.

 

 

 

 

burnout eyes oOoOO

“The humanoids told Don that if he went home with a whore, she would cook him a meal of petroleum and coal products at fancy prices.”

I just started reading “Breakfast of Champions” by Kurt Vonnegut. I’ve never read anything by this author before and decided to give it a try. I picked out three books from the library to occupy myself before the new semester begins (next week!) and this was the first one I chose to read.

So far, it’s blowing my mind in ways I couldn’t even imagine. It is incredible how he puts multiple novels in one novel in the form of the main character’s books. Simple plots or even just extracts of plots jumping up and down the pages, almost hidden and unrecognizable as their own pieces of literature. There is a childlike simplicity that hides snide remarks the author makes about our world, some parts real and some parts fake or made up. I’m 63 pages in and I haven’t reached the point of why or how Dwayne and Kilgore met and became close, and yet the novel is no longer “opening” or setting the scene or the mood. We jump right into it with the preface, every paragraph is read as if someone is rushing the words, the ideas. Every sentence is rushed to allow the next one, but the next one is only being pushed by the one after, and so on.

It is also absurdly genius that Kilgore’s novels were published as “words” for pictures of “wide-open beavers” and printed together, the pictures not being illustrations or guidance to the novels at all. In hindsight, that probably made the novels just a tad more incredible. If you’re reading the text and not getting distracted by the beavers, then the words must be pure orgasmic li-te-ra-tu-re.

Not sure how I feel about Dwayne yet, I haven’t formed an opinion about him.

Me and Enzo (shoulder-cat)

Me and Toby (dog-cat)

In other news, I got stung by a bee last night on my neck, and I also have a big scar on my foot from a twig that got caught in my sandals. The cats are more demanding than ever and I think I might have found a freshman male version of myself (freshman year Katya, not senior year Katya). No idea what his name is or anything, but I keep seeing him on campus all the time in various colored skinny jeans and cool hair and too-cool-for-school attitude. Hm.