2004-03-07 - 10:04 p.m.

i'm completely exhausted. it's only 10p.

i painted for about seven total hours this weekend. that may not seem like a lot, but the act of painting (for me) is extremely physical. not in the same way as running five miles or having sex for three hours, but there's quite a bit of standing and moving, as well as intense mental concentration. and i haven't painted in more than three months.

when i am in 'good shape' vis-a-vis painting, i can paint for four or five solid hours and not even bat a lash. this fall, when i returned to new york from the chess games on the west coast, i was in a super productive phase and painted for 20 to 25 hours per week. i changed my painting style drastically when i changed studios, and i simply couldn't paint fast enough.

but then i hit the proverbial wall. first of all, it got really, really cold. my studio is heated, but when the temp is below freezing there's not much that can be done in that glorified garage. when the temperatures dipped into the teens it was almost warmer outside than in my studio. i bought an additional space heater but it barely made a dent. oil paint is most consistent at about 50 - 80 degrees F. much colder and it becomes too viscous and doesn't dry properly. paintings i completed in november just dried this week.

second of all, i had a terrible breakup. i moved. it felt like my life was falling apart. it was. i could barely handle the flood of anger, grief, pain, loneliness, anxiety, rage, sadness, and fear from my own bed. the emotional proving ground of the studio did not feel comforting. i'd walk to the studio just to sit with the paintings and i'd start to feel anxious and scared from about two blocks away. i'd still go, but i'd just sit on the dirty studio divan, staring at my paintings as if they were someone else's. i never stayed for very long.

things are starting to feel a little different now. the breakup is still a fresh wound, but at least its scabbing over. i have a new lover. it's not as painfully cold as it was in the heart of january. inside somehow i could feel that blockage beginning to move. i printed out some photos i took this weekend and headed to the studio. i finished a painting i'd begun in early december that i'd nearly given up hope on. i started a new portrait.

it's a good kind of tired.