I am always without enough time
Without time to myself...
It is constant... I am in the constant forward motion
Moving so quickly - too quickly to appreciate each day
So this is success? This is where all my hard work has gotten me... more work?
I sigh close to constantly because hell, I'm "making art"
But who fucking cares if I'm on to the next piece before I can even admire works past
Who fucking cares is it's mass produced and making me money
Who fucking cares?
I need an assistant - a mini me... but no one can be me and do what I do
I can't sacrifice this work - my art - my art of finding more work and more art to make
Overwhelmed and waiting...
I wish I could sit back and watch this fall into my tired lap...
But good comes to those who work and I am sure this is good
Everyone tells me it's great!
I want to marry rich so I can make art more slow...
But I want to be alone - I want to be alone.
I want love to find me and to nurture me and my art.
I want love to leave me alone for days, no(!) - weeks at a time... upon every request.
You may want me to live and breath for you... but my life is just pictures...
I'll love all your pictures...
...just lend me picture perfect days?