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Ugh.
I need prozac.
Furr realz. >
Observation
Today I noticed that every where you go in the city, you are observed. Not that someone is necessarily watching you all the time, though much of the time you are in someone's line of sight. But it's difficult to find a place to lie down or to stop and look up at the sky without feeling like you're a) putting yourself in danger or b) behaving in a way that will alarm people.
I'm a total hypocrite of course. I observe people all the time. I study their movements, their clothing choices, their sounds. These are important things to observe as an artist. In order for your work to speak of reality, you have to know, intimately, what reality is lik
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Death Week
I survived a grueling week of stress and overwork. Mostly.
The hypertension in my neck and shoulders is going away, and I was able to create a respectable value drawing from our still life this morning at class. Plus, I mostly had my homework done. Yippee.
Of course now I have to sit through another Art History class, in which the professor will probably say something sexist, transphobic, rapey, or at the very least infuse his explanations of each artwork with ignorantly hetero-normative blather. He does anything but teach, and when he tries, he makes an ass of himself.
So this class is being taught by the book, by which I do not mean that
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