I fell over this morning which made me feel really sad. Not only because it hurt, it did, and not only because I have a big ugly bleeding stinging graze up my leg but because falling over reminded me of being a kid and how when you would fall over you wouldn't have to get up straight away and you'd get sympathy and you could cry about it. When I fell over this morning I was by myself and you can't very well just sit there in the mud and start crying, you've got places to be and a train to catch and even though you're bleeding and bruised you've just got to get up, brush yourself off as best and you can and limp away, sniffing back tears.
Anyway so woe is me, etcetera, I made it into the city and I was in a bad mood so I went to the bookshop and bought two books to cheer me up 'Letters to a Young Poet' by Rainer Maria Rilke an anthology of Selected Poems by Rumi (A certain beloved Pen Pal of mine got me onto Rumi, HI MICHAL I LIMPED TO THE POST OFFICE AND SENT YOU A LETTER TODAY)
I feel a bit better now because when I arrived at Uni a painting lecturer looked after me and helped me bandaid my leg and stuff and now I'm reading Rilke and feeling a bit better about life and art.
"A WORK OF ART IS GOOD IF IT HAS ARISEN OUT OF NECESSITY"
I had a real crisis the other day when I realized the overwhelming amount of artists that exist in the world. I think at first I thought I was overwhelmed because this 'lifestyle choice' can easily be viewed as a competition. Some people I know are just in art to win it, like, how many exhibitions can you have and how many prizes can you win and how famous can you get, and I used to think I was interested in that but not anymore. It is exhausting and fruitless to approach art in that way. I am scared by the amount of artists there are in the world because it means that all these individuals have something to say and express out of necessity. There are so many things in 'everything', if that makes any sense.