I am sure many are in the same boat. The art just keeps the darkness at bay.
Many complain that their mental health has suffered over the past year. I managed well up till Christmas, then things began to crash. No specific reasons, but the interminable nonsense of the pandemic and the news from the rest of the rotten world.
Did that sort of semi-prayer thing this morning when I got up: Please let there be no work today. But the phonecall came and I had no legitimate excuse to refuse it. Like buses things are mounting up in triplicate. CAYAC is an irritation, the doings of out politicians is disgusting, and the necessity of teaching when I do not want to truly spoils the morning.
I cannot find the oil paints and will have to turn the house upside-down in an effort to locate them. Still no sales and now I am wondering if I should make the trip up north to see my father? Want to just paint the 100cms square stretchers, even with just the pink emulsion to get the project underway. It is all so tedious.
I do not want to go to the GP and request happy pills, but the pressure needs to reduce. I have BBC Breakfast streaming as I type. What a dreadful shower of liars and slime-merchants inhabit the Palace of Westminster. But perhaps that is just the way of the world? And now it's football. It's just too much!
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