December 10, 2016

Gave an exam, popped in at the department Christmas party, skipped two other parties on the schedule for the night, all of which was well.

Had an extraordinary day at the studio, long and productive, during which kindly Ray, my neighbor, introduced me to others of my new neighbors, Sandra, from Bosnia, and her mate (as I take it) a giant and impressive Cuban whose work is quite beautiful. They’d taken the space with a woman I hated instantly, but it turns out that they hated her too, so she is gone. They’re from Atlanta, but rental prices are so high there they think it actually pays to rent a studio here and come on the weekends. I left my studio only when projects needed to dry before I could continue with them.

Sat in the light of my Christmas tree thinking fatal but, queerly, undisturbing thoughts about mortality. I feel disengaged from things, doing the work, at some points harder than ever before, but anticipating no outcome, content, upon reflection, to foresee no outcome. It is as if I’m being invited with unexpected tact out of this world. With unexpected equanimity I expect to accept the invitation when it’s firmly in my hand.