Have officially reached that state in my anxiety, panic and sadness where I can only bring myself to consume cookies, caffeine and alcohol.
How am I still awake? Wtf wtf wtf wtf?
Until the Guggenheim finally says they don’t want me and reject my application, all I’m going to feel is a horrible pit in my stomach and the desire to physically vomit.
Just listening to Ernst Reijseger from “Hearsay of the Soul” and crying, nbd.
whitneymuseum: “I’m not interested in ‘abstracting’ or taking things out or reducing painting to design, form, line, and color. I paint this way because I can keep putting more things in it–drama, anger, pain, love, a figure, a horse, my ideas about space. Through your eyes it again becomes an emotion or idea.” —Willem de Kooning, born today in 1904
Shorts and tights, thoughts thoughts?!?
OH SWEET JESUS
So, you know, I was Googling my own name (terrible, I know) and I found this comment under a cross-post of a review I wrote about the Neuberger’s “American Vanguards” exhibition, written by a former NYU professor: “When Irving Sandler was on the NYU faculty in the 1960s the John Graham painting now owned by the Grey Art Gallery hung in his office. As one of the curators...
Tonight: - Math Homework - Thesis Defense Prep - Interview Round Three Preparations (FIGURE OUT WHAT TO WEAR) - Finish watching Mothra
Gonna drink a beer and watch Mothra because it’s not like I have anything better to do (OH WAIT I DO) but I’m a motherfucking senior, damnit.
tempted to hand in my english paper like this
Wahhh I don’t wanna do anything. I don’t wanna give a gallery talk tomorrow. I don’t give a ball’s ass about French drawing. Ugh.