Hurricane Ida did not impact my house, and it did not damage me physically, but the stench of the city, dead rats, mould, aggression and rampant poverty are very hard to avoid. The sadness of it seeps into everything and everyone, I overhear customers at the Columns Hotel talking about leaving, my friends are leaving, even my old creepy boss who tries to kiss me is leaving, the only thing venturing its great ugly head towards us is a recession. I feel stuck to the tarmac, and it is hard to make art when you see that the world needs far more. It needs clean water, better healthcare, fewer guns. It needs to stop raping its own. New Orleans is a pandoras box and I have been sitting with its lid open in front of me for 4 years. It is time to leave, time to learn, I am excited to build a community with other artists, maybe I will feel less alone. I am nervous that I will not learn a thing and I will be back where I started. I am excited to exercise hope again. I am ready to work hard.
interview B and J need to be typed up from burner phone.
Screenplay adaptation of interviews has finally begun, though it took a packet of Marlborough reds and a negroni to make it happen.
commisssion: jaseon, jasons sister, anwyn portrait, jasons mother, finish the mesh painting.
Screening for ehlers danlos and MS soon. Nurse fingered me. Working as a waitress in a cocktail bar (dont you want me baby). Never felt more empty or more frightened. Idea for a painting..woman staring out the bright window sees black plinth circa 2001 space odyssey. Black walls are closing in. If i have ms ima milk that shit for what its worth in my artist statements. Reading the heart is a lonely hunter.