I have no place to paint-this drives me insane. The best light is in the living room but I doubt my mother would appreciate paints, brushes, canvases, rags, ect all over her meticulously pristine living room. You see, your not suppose to actually 'live' in the room. Its purely for impressions sake. She can sit and do her stitching there, but no else can do anything. It may be her house but bloody hell, I can't live like this!
I miss having a studio apartment downtown. I need to find work so that I can move into another studio and have my own space, to paint, write, read, even to sleep in peace. So I can surround myself with the things that are essentially 'me'.
I'm stuffed into the basement like some terrible, unwanted child. Only allowed to come out when I behave well and dress appropriately, and converse properly with anyone who might stop by and ask after me. I can't be hidden then. How would it ever be explained?
I want to paint! Instead I sketch in a small sketchbook... its somewhat placating but not entirely fulfilling.... my artistic self expression is slowly being suffocated by my mother's inability to acknowledge that though she may not have any artistic talent, others do.
I'm being punished for her lack of skill or ability.
Is it any wonder I am in a constant state of depression?
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