I will throw pill bottles at the next person who tells me that artists have always been depressed outsiders.
That said, I’ve been feeling a little depressed and left out lately. I should be painting. Every day I tell myself to go to the studio and paint. But I rarely do. I go to the studio and clean. I stay home and knit. I crochet bowls and organize the tee-shirts I will need for typesetting class on Thursday (it is awesome!). I make origami of a manageable size. I get supplies for my sculpture (working title: self-portrait in the asylum) and wonder what colors I should paint my walls now that I’ve stripped the wallpaper. I talk to my friend Rachel about starting a new religion; first step: magic wands. What I don’t do is paint.
Am I not a painter any longer? Or do I just need a break? What do you sad, disenfranchised painters out there think?