my two lives

the other night, i looked around my studio (or rather, the upstairs closet that i consolidated and crammed myself and my ikea goods into) and realized that all of my paintings were black. eight black paintings. black black black.
i immediately pulled out the large red panel i've been holding in emergency reserve, mixed up some green paint, and threw on colors and galkyd and turpentine in a euphoric delirium. rigid conformity vs organic liberalism, to use some favorite convoluted art/philosophical terms -



it's certainly not finished, and i would love some suggestions, but the process was fun. the way art is supposed to be. right?

today i woke up to snow. not on the ground, really, or even very sticky, but snow - glorious december snow. i put on some ballet flats, no socks (because sometimes that feels tacky) and marched somberly to my developmental biology class. we were having a dissection. i was prepared for formaledehyde and gloves. we were given live mice and a scalpel.
i did the dirtiest, ugliest thing i have ever done. i sliced the poor mouse open, pulled out her amniotic sac, and cut out her embryos, one by one. i am so ashamed.




i don't really like living a double life.