below the waste
Nov. 27th, 2006 11:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinueThe main activity of the day was an intense look at a few of the paintings in the National Gallery, under the guidance of the museum's Associate Artist liason, Colin Wiggins. This man is brilliant. If you ever get a chance to go to one of his talks, do it. I am hatching schemes to kidnap him until he gives me an hour-long talk on every painting in the gallery. Which, really, should only take a year or so, if we only take reasonable breaks for eating and sleeping. I'd be doing him a favor, really. Or, erm, favour.
Despite the awesomeness of the painting-looking-at, I've been in an extremly poor mood since around two o'clock. I can't trace this to a particular event, other than that it coincides with my arrival at school. I'm getting along well with everyone, but I feel false, and also can't see how I ever thought my work was any good. (You might notice a pattern here; I do this with my writing, and my music, and...*) I saw what looks to be the final edit - and saved the day by finding some missing frames - and, well, it's a film now, and not just my pictures, and I don't know whether I like it and I'm sad that my pictures are gone, which, really, is unreasonable, and this is also why I keep putting off editing the music video.
Anyway, if people in London want to see it, the showing is on Thursday at 6 PM; anyone else who's interested will just have to wait for the DVD.
I keep forgetting I have a physical self, and it was really bad today, which is an alternative explanation for why my mood has been poor. I was fine in the morning, when I was looking in mirrors, and I perked up slightly when I saw my reflection after I got home. Because hey look - it's me! Right there! I'm pretty and solid and full of existence! Being humanly corporeal is much nicer than life as a steadycam with an incomplete encyclopedia attached. Most of today, my only awareness of my body was as a barrier. I'm losing my mind, or losing everything that isn't mind. I have to get back home.
*clothes, drawings, cooking, speaking, acting, thinking - pretty much any creative pursuit you can name. The real reason for this footnote is to affirm that I absolutely don't do this with love - the people I love, I love all the time. So don't worry.
Despite the awesomeness of the painting-looking-at, I've been in an extremly poor mood since around two o'clock. I can't trace this to a particular event, other than that it coincides with my arrival at school. I'm getting along well with everyone, but I feel false, and also can't see how I ever thought my work was any good. (You might notice a pattern here; I do this with my writing, and my music, and...*) I saw what looks to be the final edit - and saved the day by finding some missing frames - and, well, it's a film now, and not just my pictures, and I don't know whether I like it and I'm sad that my pictures are gone, which, really, is unreasonable, and this is also why I keep putting off editing the music video.
Anyway, if people in London want to see it, the showing is on Thursday at 6 PM; anyone else who's interested will just have to wait for the DVD.
I keep forgetting I have a physical self, and it was really bad today, which is an alternative explanation for why my mood has been poor. I was fine in the morning, when I was looking in mirrors, and I perked up slightly when I saw my reflection after I got home. Because hey look - it's me! Right there! I'm pretty and solid and full of existence! Being humanly corporeal is much nicer than life as a steadycam with an incomplete encyclopedia attached. Most of today, my only awareness of my body was as a barrier. I'm losing my mind, or losing everything that isn't mind. I have to get back home.
*clothes, drawings, cooking, speaking, acting, thinking - pretty much any creative pursuit you can name. The real reason for this footnote is to affirm that I absolutely don't do this with love - the people I love, I love all the time. So don't worry.
