A YEAR AGO II...
SERIOUSLY, NOW...
MY TURN TO FEEL HURT...
July 28, 2006
Yesterday I got the news that my presence in my studio and occasionally drifting through the house was "confusing". So, I have agreed not to come back to my studio, and to move my work and what I need for it to my little apartment. And it cuts into me with a ferocity that has literally astonished me. I had, after all, already left the house I designed, the family I had lived in it with "all my life", my understanding of myself that had kept my head high for thirty-two years, my respectability in my community, whatever that was... and now an outbuilding was causing all this distress?
My guess is that it was just one last loss too much, one last cut too close to the bone, one last pinch that finally caught the nerve, one "little death" that finally brought home the piles of loss that surround me and trip me up at every step. I haven't even achieved much here in the last few months: I have been frozen in the headlights of the inescapable approaching vehicle whose names are "coming out" and "moving out".
In so many ways, it is a huge relief to have it over with, not to have to worry about what was coming, and just deal with the events as they unfold. But things still get to you. And this last surrender REALLY gets to me. This space has been my hide-out for the last eight years, where I have insulated myself with projects useful and useless, fought my way onto the internet and broadband, mud-wrestled with a string of computers [oh, the Microsoft man will CERTAINLY burn in hell, I have it on the highest possible authority: i.e., me].
Here is where I finally had the space to turn out the last couple of big projects at home instead of commuting to the City, never knowing of course, that they were in fact the LAST couple of big projects. And it was where I confronted the dwindling and shriveling of the projects that followed, and then the silence that followed them.
Much as I hated him when I first ran into him, Norman O. Brown was night: your house is your head. And this space has been my head, for better or worse, for a long time. I will miss it. Not more than it deserves, but it becomes the touchstone for all the other things that are falling away from me, which I can't even begin to think about because their loss would drive me crazy if I really thought about it honestly.
Well, perhaps I am "confusing", as well as "confused, disturbed, and doing dangerous things."
But now there are TWO of us who have to work at not being bitter or angry.
c
MY TURN TO FEEL HURT...
July 28, 2006
Yesterday I got the news that my presence in my studio and occasionally drifting through the house was "confusing". So, I have agreed not to come back to my studio, and to move my work and what I need for it to my little apartment. And it cuts into me with a ferocity that has literally astonished me. I had, after all, already left the house I designed, the family I had lived in it with "all my life", my understanding of myself that had kept my head high for thirty-two years, my respectability in my community, whatever that was... and now an outbuilding was causing all this distress?
My guess is that it was just one last loss too much, one last cut too close to the bone, one last pinch that finally caught the nerve, one "little death" that finally brought home the piles of loss that surround me and trip me up at every step. I haven't even achieved much here in the last few months: I have been frozen in the headlights of the inescapable approaching vehicle whose names are "coming out" and "moving out".
In so many ways, it is a huge relief to have it over with, not to have to worry about what was coming, and just deal with the events as they unfold. But things still get to you. And this last surrender REALLY gets to me. This space has been my hide-out for the last eight years, where I have insulated myself with projects useful and useless, fought my way onto the internet and broadband, mud-wrestled with a string of computers [oh, the Microsoft man will CERTAINLY burn in hell, I have it on the highest possible authority: i.e., me].
Here is where I finally had the space to turn out the last couple of big projects at home instead of commuting to the City, never knowing of course, that they were in fact the LAST couple of big projects. And it was where I confronted the dwindling and shriveling of the projects that followed, and then the silence that followed them.
Much as I hated him when I first ran into him, Norman O. Brown was night: your house is your head. And this space has been my head, for better or worse, for a long time. I will miss it. Not more than it deserves, but it becomes the touchstone for all the other things that are falling away from me, which I can't even begin to think about because their loss would drive me crazy if I really thought about it honestly.
Well, perhaps I am "confusing", as well as "confused, disturbed, and doing dangerous things."
But now there are TWO of us who have to work at not being bitter or angry.
c
Thinking of you. Hou moed, my dear.
ReplyDeleteNigel
Wow.
ReplyDeleteI feel you.
I can relate in more ways than you know.
Hang in there, Troll.
For you, I predict it gets better.