I just finished up my job at the hospital, I have to focus on study and my art. Life has just been huge. I’ve never had my own place before and it is my safe space so of course there’s a lot of grief to wade through, for so many things. Then on a more practical level there’s also the constant discovering of the things I do not have – like a can opener and of course this is only truly realized when I NEED IT.
I’m getting there.
Today was a rough day but I walked through the cemetry and watched the birds. Sulphur crested cockatoos, you lovely screaming jerks. Yesterday I was near there also and it was pretty glorious, I helping a friend with a log and then we had too much coffee in the late afternoon.
Today I can’t do anything. I have an assignment that is close to being finished but I have lost a lot of confidence with everything lately, I feel like I can’t do it.
Anyway I cannot concerntrate, I can’t draw or write (academically) so I thought I’d have a look through my sketchbooks. It’s significant to me how much I have turned back to my sketching these last few hard years, similar to when I was so very lost in Berlin. (My project Berlin Domestic, which I still believe saved my life as well as the doctor who gave me a jar of vegemite saying – “You Australians, you are the only people who eat this”). I look at these drawings and I recall the feelings, the places, the people and their smiles, people in their last weeks, days and moments of their lives and then what the place feels like without them.
Different but the same.
I really love working in hospitals and look forward to being back there again one day.
Then there are other memories, which are just that, memories.
Now there’s more but I’ll save that for another time. I’ll keep wading and hopefully the hurt will pass soon, it always does.
Time to continue writing and look if I fail I’ll bloody do it all again.