Cookie cookie cookie

Over the years, we have truly forgotten the roots of our tender innocence, our eager, good nature and desire to please. We were a wee tadpole chatting up old ladies in the park. We have struggled, and suffered, often voluntarily. Oh the things we have done to our hair and put in our mouths. We have shaken our puny fist at the heavens and screamed “Why me? Why *anything*?” Maybe it is moving back to the general neighborhood where I grew up and seeing friends from small times, but it’s all coming back to me. (Cue the Morrissey) Used to be a sweet boy!

I have quite a few things to be happy about at the moment. Showing work on the LES (opening is tonight at Dacia), at the Fountain Exhibit, and in the wilds of Bushwick to be determined. I moved into a slightly bigger studio, which is very conducive not only to painting and building things, but to sitting in an actual chair, having a cigarillo and a chat. I am still hemorrhaging rent money on the empty space but I can leave off caring about it for one measly week and buy myself a 4G, can’t I? Of course I can. Thanks, left shoulder demon!

I don’t always feel like I am doing what I am meant to be doing. Like when I am at work while the muse is alive, or when I am pulling something particularly nasty out of the bathtub drain. I am an artist! But today “c” is definitely for “cookie” and that’s good enough for me.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.