x.

and the latest painting...

I lie on the floor of my studio and look up. I'm listening to the same song on repeat. I can clearly see the changes I need to make, as I stare into the ceiling tiles. I shift my vision to the hissing air vents, my dreams seems to float higher and higher away from me to be wedged between the floors above. I close my eyes and imagine roots covering me with their wooden veins. It is not a suffocating feeling, but more of a cocooning while I wait to emerge from this stupor. I open my eyes and see all the paintings around me. What a strange compulsion, to paint. Who am I painting for? Who dedicates their life to art? I never intended for it to be like this. I never intended for anything much, so I guess this is what happens. An ache behind my eyes, and the furrow of my brow keeps the tears absorbed. I better change the song...