the only way / oil / wood board / 24 x 12 inches

you are everything you've ever been through
an amalgamation of the universe
processed in a unique way
by yourself,
that makes your situation
a labyrinth
for anyone to explore
and that makes us
maze
wanderers.

today i tried to paint and couldn't. its not that i never will again, just today was one of those days where i simply wasn't going to create anything. i had lunch with catherine, went back to the house, picked up my stuff and drove down to the studio. i was tired it was midafternoon, there hadn't been much sun any of the day and all i can distinctly remember is the way the clouds looked like they were about to rain in any minute. the traffic was fine, unmemorable, there was only one car parked out front, the sign says that its two hour parking until six, its three when i arrive if i park here i would theoretically have to move it at five but it seems close enough to the shut off point that i risk it and know that before it has never been towed. the tattoo shop has a note on it explaining that one of the proprietors is out for the moment but will be back shortly. i walk down the hall and always notice the terrible creaking that goes on as you walk. no one else is here it seems everything is quiet i slip my key in and notice before stepping into my studio that there is a towel on the floor of the bathroom now. i cannot paint. i look around the room, flip all the switches and i don't feel the normal feeling that wells up inside of me as i start to hypothesize how i am going to work. nothing comes up i start to notice how cold i am and i sit down and stare some more. i take out a book and start to read some pages. i am tired so i pull out a cooler i have to keep things cool and half sitting half laying in a recliner with my legs on the cooler i try to sleep. after about ten minutes of that with my eyes closed half listening to some music i can't stand it anymore and i get up. i am agonized at how tired i am how much of a failure i feel that i can't bring myself to work and how i wish i just had a bed to collapse in. i look at all the paintings and over analyze each one. i cant understand them. they don't make any sense right now i consider never touching them or destroying them as solutions. i eventually decide not to do anything and lie down on the ground with the cushion of the recliner as the pillow. i sleep in-between the cooler and the foot of the recliner because it makes me feel enclosed and since i don't have a blanket this provides a psychological illusion of warmth. i manage to sleep for about an hour and a half with some interruptions. phone call, the sounds of feet moving along the creaky floor. a neighbor artist arriving to his studio, the sound of the unbolting of his large steel door. he has music playing very loud which i don't mind because it becomes its own kind of warming drone, another distraction to how cold i am. i keep sleeping, sometimes the music is loud and then it becomes low, almost silent and there are hums and hims out making me interested and alive. once six o clock rolls around i sit back in the chair and close my eyes some more. i think about just leaving. i think about how at this point my ideas about getting coffee and really getting into the work losing myself in the work aren't going to happen. i know im exhausted and whatever love i have for this is lost because of how tired i am. i can't do it so i pack up my stuff, feel relieved that i dont have to clean all my brushes and recap paint bottles. i just turn the lights out, lock the door and walk out to a clean sky and the prospect of my car and everything that lay at home.

always unwinding
always venting
the remainder of known existence
is these
things.

life expects
a future to come
away from
standing in
water below freezing

vision quest / oil / canvas