Ich Habe Genug pt. 2

Ich Habe Genug. I have enough. Stop.

This was running through my brain today in the studio while going back and forth from my work table to the paper bath to the ink station to the press. Apparently, I have fine inking skills. It must be said, my mother taught me everything I know. I like to roll out the ink at a ferocious pace with my head tilted an angle in order to see the ink turned into velvet. If you listen really close, you can hear when it is ready. Who needs eyesight anyways. I printed seven pieces from a giant linocut and was delighted with every single one. Outlines in the whitest of white of seven men leaning against a wall in 1978 in the blackest of ink came to be today. Like an apparition out of thin air. Stop.

I had such a terrible day today. It started out far too early for my own good. 5:30 early, and I drove the giant bread truck with such a vengeance even I hadn't a clue what came over me. My knuckles were white and clutching the steering wheel but my driving gloves didn't give me away for even a minute. Two loads and twenty million racks of multigrain and harvest home bread later, I finished my shift still under a dark cloud and raced home to pick up film to drop at Lab Works in order for it to be printed in time. I made a Kim Kroeker worthy lunch (grilled cheese on harvest home, home made tomato soup from my mum) and ate hurriedly as well. I hate rushing when I am eating. Eating should be done slowly in order to savor and remember such goodness. No goodness at my table today. I swallowed (barely) and raced to the Exchange to pick up prints and ran into Ruthless on the street and collapsed in his embrace. Then I raced home on Jessica Alba and cut, matted, cropped, dusted, Windexed, framed, screwed, and fussed over my submission for the art show. In all of my hurrying, I managed to sob for three minutes to Erin on the phone thanks to a print crisis, pack up my stuff, race BACK to the Exchange and think of ideas for my class. Stop.

Suffice is to say, walking into the studio fifteen minutes late carrying four frames in a giant Christmas gift bag was a breath of fresh air. I dropped my shit, peeled of layers, plunked down beside my new friend Michelle (who is unreal), threw on my apron, doused paint thinner on my rag and got busy. I love that place. I love the pace, I love my immediate ease upon entering, I love the smell, I love the people. Today the aforementioned anarchist kid brought in a container of doughnuts that he had dumpstered behind Safeway in the Village. I ate one because he was watching and I wanted him to think I was cool. It was stale, but not terrible. I guess I passed the test because later on he weaseled up beside me as I was rolling and re-rolling with the power of a thousand starved demons and invited me to his show at the Mondragon. Cute. Anarchist date. Or not. Stop.

My head aches again from the turpentine. Rabbi force fed me carrots, toast and red wine to help my pain but as lovely as her attention was, it still hurts. There are not a lot of places I love more than Rebecca's apartment in Fall. Candles burning, Charlotte Gainsbourg playing, tea steeping, wine breathing, couches sagging, light dancing, faux fires raging. I love it and I love her. Thank you for taking care of me Sister Budyk. You would make a great nun. One great badass nun. Stop.

Time to rest. Stop.
Madge.