Postpartum

I’m getting nervous about Burning Man. The desert’s so intimidating. So is the long journey west and back. I’m trying to find someone to carpool with but so far, looks like I might be flying to Reno and shuttling into Black Rock. I’m excited about all the great minds I’ll come in contact with and how much I’ll change. I have to go. There’s no turning back but I’m scared. Dad asked me why I’d pay so much money just to be tortured for a week. I don’t really know. I just have to do it.

So I finished this painting a couple of days ago. It’s a row of animated condos on an over-populated beach with an oil rig in the background- just like the oil rig here. I love it because it’s beachy and that was my intent, but also it’s very dark and playful and so me. I’m really attached to it but Dad wants to keep it. Today Kathy said she was going to write my name and date on the back and I said no. They just don’t understand. I might try to smuggle it back into Kentucky but that will be really hard if they decorate a whole room around it. I just have to paint them something else, something they’ll like better that I’m not completely in love with. I’m not ready to part with my condo painting. It’s not just any beach scene. And just because I paint something fast doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter. I store that shit up, the inspiration and all. It’s a very spiritual thing and I’m very possessive.

I have my own god just like all the tiny churches. I’m like a new breed of Mormon writing out my own shit. The condo painting is a chapter of a very sacred text.

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