Portrait of Artist in Limbo

Posted: September 11, 2012 in Uncategorized

I wish it weren’t so easy. I wish I couldn’t just do this, but I can, and I can do it well. It used to mean something to me, too. Now it’s just something that, and I don’t even have to do it, I just do it. It used to be exciting. Then when the luster wore off, I began to challenge myself. Paint the human figure using only straight lines. An ocean landscape made up only of 51 different shades of red. I wanted them all to hate it, to hate me. They called it “avant garde” and “experimental” and “progressive.” I painted a banana as photo-realistically as I could against a plain white canvas. It was “striking” and “spoke of the contrast between art and reality.” Fucking people. Now it’s just automatic. A bowel movement. I see myself sometimes in a different life. Balding, 42, a financial planner with an only son who hates me. Content. Not like this. I love women and they love me, but they often find my lifestyle to be distasteful, unstable. Sometimes I drink too much. Then I brood. Sometimes I brood without the help of alcohol, just hours sitting in a ball on the loft floor staring out the window and trying not to be. And not knowing that sense of health, I have lost all inspiration to please a multitude of strangers.


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