February 27, 2020

Great flood of people who have never been to my studio, never imagined paying for a piece of art wanting things of mine now and can I ship or can I choose something for them or can I meet them at some other time according to their leisure? If I had averaged a few hundred dollars a month to defray the cost of rent I would have been content, but in perhaps one month in 20 years did that happen. This is worse than closing the studio. Can people imagine how this sad this makes one? I remember a woman in the studio taken by a carefully wrought bird painting, worth in any market $600. “How much?” she asks. Wanting her to have it, since she clearly liked it, I say “$60.” She turns away in clear disgust. This art giveaway was a terrible mistake. I should have piled it up and let the trash man have his pick.

Not a word from the University about either one of my 2019 novels. Great to-do about someone in Philosophy who published a study of someone or other. Chairs write “We would like to congratulate X on publishing Y”. . . my chair writes nothing. I know, this is the sin of envy. But some other sin seems to be involved too, and not my own.

Clearly got up on the wrong side of the bed.

The tiniest salt of snow on the pavement, students writing panicked emails about how they can’t possibly show up for class.