i sort of felt happy, leaving work, going north towards the gallery.
thoughts that i should be sad while in the presence of the paintings embryonically developed.
only when i actually started to feel sad in front of the paintings did i enjoy myself.
my earphones were in my ears the whole time with music coming out of them. i felt things while looking at the paintings. i wanted to sleep. i didn't like the paintings. i wanted to manipulate paint, somehow, in relation to the paint already on the paintings. 'mainstream cultural events,' i thought.
the space was big. there were 28 paintings. all the frames were nice. the lighting was calming. there was a lot of security, as in people who were there to watch the people watching the paintings.
the event was written about on a blog.
everything seemed very real, as in the paint and the floors and these little boxes in the corners of the rooms that had white discs in them.
walking away from this thing was interesting.
felt a mixture of bad and good emotions. thought about authors, my job, my friends, time of day, the city.
thought 'what is ---------?' while a variety of concepts, habits, concrete materials alternated as the previously missing subject.
just thought a lot, walked, bought a j
wanted to die. wanted to live. read on the subway but didn't really read.
now i feel anxious and impatient and my room is cold.