2013-12-01


Things are crazy in Los Angeles. Yes, the culture itself is unlike what you'd expect. My time spent here has been crazy. My changes have been crazy. My future is unpredictable, but hopeful.

I have no job, just unpaid internships. I am meeting a lot of people. I could get a job, a lame job, if I wanted, but I'm no longer willing to suffer like that. Instead I am shopping and hoping for art-related jobs.

Will is struggling to understand what I'm doing away from him. Truth is, I am going where I can be useful. In the bay area, all people want to do with me is put me behind a counter and be grateful for my pittance. But why would I do that when I can be of invaluable service somewhere? You know, like, using my fine arts degree, my oil painting skills of photo-realism, my handiness in constructing powerful substrates, and my knowledge of conservational longevity and art history. Not even the artists in the bay area know what to do with me. Either you sell pathetic paintings of trolley cars for $20 at Fisherman's Wharf, or you produce conceptual-ripoffs to impress beer-drinking straight guys who are poor.

Sorry I'm not willing to sell my soul for a 9-5.

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