Sunday, February 09, 2003

I made use of my museum membership and tooled around the museum today. I felt strange and alone in such a place, surrounded by massive paintings and hearing my boot steps across the wood floors interrupt the quiet. A guard who looked close to his seventies chatted me up in front of an Andy Warhol, then tailed me to a Jasper Johns. I exited that part of the gallery quickly, and he found me again at the elevator. Thankfully, it arrived in seconds and I stepped inside and bid my admirer goodbye.

I've been very lonely lately, particularly because I'm missing my friends in Los Angeles and the faces that I saw on a daily basis. I miss the liveliness of the people and yes, I'll say it, the warm weather.

I'm also wondering a lot of things, like if anything I'm doing counts. I can't help feeling like an unfinished project. Sure, we are all unfinished projects, but I feel like one that is unfinished because it has been neglected too long. Sitting in a dark corner never to realize it's full potential. I worry about getting older and becoming invisible, a compilation of unfinished projects and unrealized potential.

When I was growing up, I used to think that being depressed was part of being an artist, that my extra sensitive perception meant that I was going to be something special. I feel far from that. Yes, I've done a lot of cool things and lived a lot of cool places. But where has that gotten me? And where will that take me?

I'm obviously feeling uncertain right now. Sundays tend to do that, as they are the beginning of another week. Mini New Years every seven days that make me wonder what I've accomplished.

And what I'm missing.

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