#v.o curations

I get very caught up in the sides of paintings. In the finish’ings. I think it’s because I feel like I’m incompetent to be here. To be a painter. Its class weighs on me like an ill fitting stolen jacket. Stolen not handed down. Audacity is sO important in painting. I have to respect myself before I approach the canvas otherwise it texturely shows all your flaws. You have to command the frame. Or it will swallow you whole. Peasant. Fuck an edge. Let’s tape it and keep it stepping. White edge it has been decided. For now. But the full stop is important. Why a bare canvas edge? Because there’s a beauty in the raw. In the before the after.

ITS DARK AND HEAVEN IS HOT

Rain on me by Ashanti is the song of the mind this morning. But not just the hook more so the visual of her batting away the torrential rain that she not only asks for but deluges her body making it not sexy but seemingly flu encouraging. She wails, “ohhhh won’t you take this pain from meeeee” followed by a brisk yet hearty riff of “I don’t wanna live, I don’t want live, baby just...” I think about the joys of British living meaning the weather aforementioned sparks a familial energy in me and the physical sadness too make this an RD delight. Yesterday I spent in bed all day hooked to Girlfriends deadpan ‘rules’ and archaic praxis of what girlhood means and what manhood means and how they have their own separate lanes. There was an episode where the men of the cast stated Halle Berry as a 10, which surprised me but then I remember Berry’s hold on the black community is like Primark’s hold of Priti Patel. Joan asked her partner, a British cast man (information which is relevantly irrelevant here), where she ranks on the ‘scale’. He said obviously she’s a 9. She laughed coyly and questioned again for a more serious answer that on the scale where Halle is a 10 where is she. After being somewhat blown away by the comparison against Berry as it is, as if they couldn’t possibly be ON the same rank, he then replied: “Well, you’re a 5!” Where would you rank? I think on a day like today I’m a 5, but watching it yesterday in my minds hysteria I felt more akin with a 9. Delusion makes the heart grow stronger. Reality makes the heart grow fonder. You choose.

> More like Black men can’t jump

I like how cunning linguist sounds like cunnilingus here [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzPet_W5XZc&list=WL&index=16&ab_channel=Artangel]. I think they are the same.

I just ended the call on my last therapy session. 22:13 probably more 22:12, that seems more rounded. K said you seem well. You are well. You are good. There’s fear in being well too but we’re working on that. We’ve worked on fear. I feel comfortable with that word. It all seems very storybook. I have a partner, that I’m finally going away tomorrow, I just hung a sculpture in a gallery I’ve admired for years in the space I’ve admired for years, my mum said on her own accord she’d like to get therapy… I feel less crazy. Crazed. K said a significant factor of my development is that I trust myself more. I cried at that. I always thought that should be spelt cryed - it appears softer and more acute to tears than the shriek it too can convey. I did not shriek. I produced tears. Got emotional at a reflected self listening and holding a me. 12 weeks of sessions over two week periods equals 24 weeks. 6 months! Half a year. I had replied that what felt nice was the respect and trust I have for the process of therapy. And nice used here as the inhale and the exhale. Moment of balance that (somehow) echoes out onto the rest of my living.

I’m seeing a circle: Robert Morris Felix Gonzales Torres   Tom Burr Dan Graham Michael E Smith

Just came to read my silly little book in my silly little skirt and all I’m doing is people watching the masses. It’s the hottest day in March in 4 years. And it shows. The sign summer is here is always indicated by the strength of weed in the air X proximity to a patch of green and today reminded me of my astute calculations. In addition I was sharply struck by how much I didn’t want to be there. Here. London. Choose where you spend Summer 21 wisely. Which city will it be. Methinks New York: optimum heat guaranteed. How did they all remember how to put on make up properly? Last year’s Topshop grams are still standing, moto jeans still fit dusted off unbroken unscathed. Specialising in results. Like a summer bod broker. What will we eat. City swapping has got to be timed because every US call has resulted in an “I’m coming to London” announcement with my swift swat back of “well that’s cute because I won’t be there!” I spoke to C tonight and we recited the same telling. But this time I cleverly added perhaps we should time it. I’ll be in NY for June/July. Come me late August. I feel this will need to be reiterated nearer vaccines and bookings so by proxy nearer to capitalism. Only touch base with capitalism, dance in liberal left handed wonder: spectacle and speculation. We promised monthly calls, with the moon I thought, that would be nice.