february 02, part 2.

i went to my painting class today and spent 3 hours trying to paint an egg that did not exist. it was a study in shadows - i guess, you should know where shadows are and what they look like without actually being able to see them. my body aches from the stool i sat on. my back was bent in strange, uneasy positions. my brain was frustrated, overwhelmed. for three hours, with very few breaks, i was completely fixated on this egg. on its shadow. on its highlight. on the colors. my world became so little - my world was an egg in a 5 inch x 5 inch square. i hated the egg. i hated the exercise. i hated how hard it was. i hated how simple it was - and how difficult it was to do right. i hate how when i look at my paintings, i can't really see them. i can't tell if the colors are right, or the shadow is right, or if the egg actually looked round and alive. i hated the woman who took 10 minutes to do the exercise and moved on to paint an awful rothko replica. i hated her, because her painting of the egg was terrible. who does she think she is? you can't paint like rothko unless you know about color, and shape, and shadow. and i hated her. i wanted so badly to quit. to stop painting the stupid egg and smear color with a huge, ugly, gloppy paint brush all over the walls and ceilings and my face and fingers and canvas and under my show and in my jeans pockets and in her face. but i didn't.

i'm at home now. i can only stand to sit in the dark. this is why painting is good. this is why anything that we actually do that is hard is good. my brain is tired. my body is tired. i am tired. i am speechless. thoughtless. empty. i am nothing.