ever feel like saying to someone, "You know, do you need a GOOD, earth-shaking catastrophe to make you realize how lucky you are,"?

i tend not to quibble, or try not to, but recently i've felt like slipping the knife in. must be this endless Diva rag i'm sitting on.

to look unflinchingly into the face of your own passion, and accept it.

or...

accept that you're a dork, and get on with your life.
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time is rushing past, faster than i can even see it. i think this is why i love taking photographs while driving. (haven't done this for a long time. it just doesn't feel safe anymore. maybe i'll do it, next time, while in the passenger seat.)

violent nausea controlled by medication=one of the ever-changing sides of crohn's. (what a stupid name)

worry and thoughts, thinking, endlessly, about photographs. camera. photographs. thinking of ways to "describe them", and wondering if they'll buy it. (even if it's heartfelt?) must email prof to ask about it.

is thinking... inevitably, and unfortunately, sanity prevails. but i'm in a dangerous age. this is the age we lose people, and when i lose people, my brain is chipped at.

times of tiny stress explosions don't mirror the real fears.

violence takes so many forms.

and, i don't even want people to understand me. if i don't, and don't want to, no one else should.

"art" has become a dirty word to me.

mr. side note: i love being cerebral, but at times, i wish i were more aware, physically. i think it would have helped me develop as an actor... they seem to be SO in tune with themselves physically. it's something they work intensely towards. i just.. don't have that kind of interest.

ms. side note: it seems that no matter what else i'm diving into, i always end right back at writing.

something else, too. i considered emailing my prof and asking if i talked too much, or distracted from the subject, in class, too often. i decided, though, not to.

i read recently (and i've thought the same thing to myself, before) that to write something down, from your mind, gives license to it and opens it into the world. this can be a good, a bad, or an awkward "thing". it's partly why i use this journal, to write things down so i can open it up, to see if i did something wrong, or to have a better idea of what i'm seeing/hearing/feeling.

most of the time, if i'm talking too much, i'm not. maybe too loudly, perhaps a little too stream-of-consciousness, but not too much. so, i'll leave it at that. if i'm going to use this class to focus, then i'm going to use it.

today, in class, i talked a little about my CF and my crohn's. i mentioned how i was seeking community, my audience, and trying to figure it out in my head, and that, finally, it had clicked in my talks to myself here.

after i had talked, and talked, i sat, quiet. the rest of the class went on. (for those of you who might not know, most of a class is spent and about listening). so, i listened, and to stop fidgeting as much, i focused on my nails.

something i've always had, always seen, are the marks on my nails. i've since found out these lines, marks, and pittings, can be the result of arthritic problems, or connected to the lungs. something to do with a deficiency of something or other, i can't remember exactly, but like many things connected with me, it's connected, again, in a curve to a genetic tie. in the past, i've buffed and carved them away, since i'm not sure i can really get rid of them. everyone in my family has them, to certain degrees. the nails just grow that way. some of the marks i've always had, others come and go (especially the pits).

so, i took a marker, and marked out the parts that i noticed the most. it was fine-tipped, which was good since there were many details. i worked and marked, listening and not listening, listening too carefully and feeling tired as i scratched away at my genetic cat-scratches. and, when i was done, it made me happy.

simple reason. the dark brown marks showed up right away, and i could look past them. i could see the nail as it used to be, very nearly, as whole and shining.

humour heightens our sense of survival and preserves our sanity.

part of the reason i took this course is to discover, develop, and establish an "audience" for my artwork. it seemed worthwhile, being something to work towards.

the majority of artwork is made for the artistic audience. it, of course, depends. there's many different art forms.

what can i do to my work? should i make it specifically for an audience? 

something i mentioned in the very first class is the establishment of audience, and how it is supposed to work towards people. artwork for the "masses" is important, even if it isn't read the same way as we see it. it's something we need to think about. it's not enough is "we" like it, is it?

this is something difficult for me to encompass, since i only make my work for me. i use it partly as a coping mechanism, partly as an artistic outlet. i have no hopes to sell my work, and have made few attempts to. as made as it all sounds, i foresee few of my works making money. i don't WANT them to make money. it's not why i do it. they're for me.

it feels like i've put myself in a corner. the purpose of going to art school is learning how to use your skills, to make yourself a living through them. how do i do this if i've no interest in selling the majority of my work? 

it used to be about making an art project that was "workable". (i suppose that's one term i could use). something that works as a piece of art. draw in the viewer, and show them what your intention is.

what is my intention? what is my audience? do i need to contrive an audience? i've always worked for the sake of working, no matter what the product was going to be.

mmm. i want to find some old negatives. i think i'd like to work on this project, based on hospital experiences, but also on "found object" art. it's got a level of disassociation in it that appeals to me.

hmm. flea market. send me your old negatives, old photo albums filled with unknowns. i want them.