November 28, 2017

Clear paradisal day. Elizabeth said “It’s like Ireland.” I suppose it is. Drove to Mars Hill to have a look at the Weizenblatt Gallery. The show there now is feeble, not to judge, but to say it calmed anxieties about my own. It is all going to be very casual, and the hundreds I looked to spending on framing might be saved. Was too exhausted to paint afterwards. The least effort exhausts me; I guess it’s anemia, as it always has been, but if it is it means the defect has not, as I expect it should have, healed itself.

Have been thinking about my parents. They may have been good parents in the general sense, but they were not good parents for me. They never stood before me, drawing me forward, but always behind, making me doubt, or allowing no concept at all of, the life of imagination and creativity I would eventually live. I was unknowable to them, and hence, for a long time, maybe even to the present hour, unknowable to myself. It was not their fault.

Have been thinking of the rebellion of women against predation by men. I assume that though perhaps this brutality has not been universal, it has been common, and started at the beginning of the world. If that is the case, the change in the tide now is monumental, overwhelming, on par with the making of democracies and the dismantling of slavery. I am glad to be living in such a time.