i barged into my studio today and caught my drawings unaware and pinned them all up and moved them around and now there is sufficient chaos for now. this weird feeling we have like we'll all die at midnight of graduation. have to get everything resolved now. but we don't. i'm just trying to make. always hope, chance, movement either backward or forward. today tedious drawing, but i feel in it that its whole will not be tedious but full of energy and certain emotion, so i kept drawing until 8:30 and my wrist was throbbing.

but really most of the day i spent deep in the MOST satisfying revision of an essay. i've said this before, but i really know how to write and i know what it feels like when i've reached certain points. i'm not saying it's easy by any means, but it feels in my bones like i know what to do and i trust, i really trust, that the essay has a specific form and that i will find it, i just have to keep writing and trying. i got much closer to finding the form of an essay that i thought was fine but realized today was not an essay at all.

i'll say this in invisible ink: i know i'm not meant to be a gallery-showing artist. i'm meant to be an artist, i'm meant to write for sure, and i think my art will manifest itself in the quality of language that i use and in certain strange places like in drawings in books and in other places akin to anne carson's operas. which doesn't mean at all that i wasn't meant to get an mfa in art or that i won't draw all the time (because if i don't draw i really do rot), but my work is just not meant to be in galleries. i've known that from the beginning, but i know that for sure now. end of invisible ink.