I need to start painting again. And reading. And probably writing, too.

Berlin 1928:

The advertising exec writes an ad for cigars that results in a 13% increase in profit for the fiscal year. The emerging playwright writes his best piece of work, receives a scathing review on opening night, and shoots himself the following week.

Who's the better writer?

We're all trying to find meaning in what we do. This is [often] especially true for the artist. It's fundamental, really. 
It's why I can't seem to make anything anymore. I don't know what drives me, what seems worth painting and conceptually toiling over. And if I don't have the idea, I don't have the visual. I sit around asking myself what I care about. What's relevant? What matters? I would literally write in notebooks, page after page, WHAT DO I CARE ABOUT? over and over, until that laborious affair became a piece in and of itself. 

......How do you paint 'not-knowing'?

Outside of art, these are also the reasons I was drawn to the humanities in the first place. It's about doing something through self-discovery that eventually (and hopefully) translates into something meaningful and relevant.
 
Sometimes I feel like I'm chasing something I will never find. But it's not because it doesnt exist.
It's just not something that I can hold in my hands...It exists in moments. And sometimes I have to do a little digging and a little letting go to find it again.
 
Today I had one of these moments where something clicked. It was sparked after a discussion in my Berlin class (about Berlin, City of Stones). It was like a profound (however brief) sense of acceptance--I actually gave myself a break for once. I never do that. I could physically feel myself letting go. It was kind of awesome.Im exploring, and wandering. That's what I should be doing.

Sometimes it takes intense intellectual discussions to bring me to that state of mind...where I like that I'm toiling and struggling and asking questions.