Ho voglia di ricominciare, lasciare tutto e andare
Cambiare giro e poi, trovare un’altra direzione
Ho voglia di emozioni nuove, la giusta dimensione
Per ritrovare un po’ di ossigeno
Ugh. So true right now. I’m fed up of not being quite good enough.
I don’t even know why I’m going to university. I’m not good enough at either Italian or History of Art/writing about artists. I shouldn’t have applied for Italian, I may be enthusiastic about it but I am really shit at it. I don’t know why either, whenever I do work I feel quite confident about it and then I realise that it’s really bad and my teacher usually shoots me down and gets annoyed at me because I speak too “colloquially”. Well I can’t fucking help it. That is how I speak and I am not someone that is used to using complex sentence structures and fancy vocabulary in my every day language, or even in essays. I can’t fucking write essays and it makes me feel so sick that everyone else can do it and I can’t. I really hate some people for that, for having such complex language just come to them easily. Last Italian lesson was just so depressing and I was almost in tears by the end of it. I wish my friends didn’t make me feel so fucking stupid all the time and sometimes they’re just so blasé about it. This is probably why I spend so much time on my art homework than French and Italian, because when I do art I don’t feel stupid. I feel like I can actually do it and no one will make me feel as worthless as I do with languages. The worst thing is, I try so hard with my languages; I watch films, listen to music and radio, read books and magazines, but it doesn’t help me at all. So now I’m reluctant to do any Italian homework even though I have shit loads to do. I just know that my work will be the worst in the class. It always is.
I always thought my main passion was languages.
I do love them, anyone who speaks to me will see that I love them. I can barely say a sentence solely in English, it’s really difficult for me to not inject a French word or an Italian word there. But after I have an art lesson, do art homework or watch films like Mona Lisa Smile and Midnight in Paris, I realise that my true passion lies with art. Looking at it, analysing it, creating it. I love every moment and I think I will always remember that one day I went to an art museum in Cardiff and I stood in front of this painting. It was nothing spectacular, just a typical 18th century English portrait. It reminded me a bit of Gainsborough. Anyway, I was standing in front of this rather large painting, and it just moved me to tears. I literally had tears in my eyes. That is how beautiful this painting was and how much I love looking at the brushwork, the colours, the detail, the composition, the tones.
Today I painted for 2 hours, just a small cityscape. It’s just the autumnal trees of Central Park in front of the blue-grey buildings of Manhattan against the rising sun. It isn’t finished yet, and I don’t know when I’ll finish it seeing as I barely have any time spare and I’m so rarely in the mood to paint whilst I have art homework to complete. I just feel so peaceful when I’m making art, I’m not thinking about anything apart from what I’m doing. Sometimes I don’t even think about what I’m doing, I just do it and go with what my subconscious tells me. I don’t think about the future, or the past, or my personal problems. Just the artwork. I get completely and utterly lost within it, especially if it’s a large piece and I’m moving around. That’s my favourite type of art, the kind that I can move with and really be a part of it rather than a mere spectator. I can become involved with the painting and that is what makes me want to paint and create. I want to put myself in the art.
I should have lived amongst artists.
The artists that were never afraid of letting their imagination flow onto the canvas. The ones that were able to create something inspiring, like the Impressionists or the Surrealists. The surrealist artists were incredible, I may not always like their work but I am so fascinated by their train of thought. I had to do some research about Dali and my mind was just blown by the way he thought and how he translated that into his work. Picasso is the same. All abstract artists interest me, I want to think like they did. I want to unlock that imagination that I had as a child and build upon it, really make it into something worth looking at. Something that will be as influential as Picasso and Dali were. It’s ambitious but I just wish I could be as creative as they were.
I wish I lived in the 1890s, or the 1920s, when art was at its strongest and most innovative.
I sent him an email. I sent my father an email explaining everything.
It’s five paragraphs basically saying “I want to be normal. Be my dad again please.”
However much I want him to reply, I am about 90% sure he won’t because he’s brilliant like that and he’s a good dad that has definitely tried to make amends with me and my sister constantly throughout the 14 years we’ve had to spend without him.
I don’t know why I bother with him sometimes. I must really fucking want my dad back.
I just wrote a very emotional letter to my father. Well, I wrote a draft. I just needed to write everything down before my mood changes and I decide I’m still okay without my dad because I’m not. It kills me when my friends talk about their dads, even if it’s something as mundane as “my dad will give me a lift there” and I don’t know if they know that. I don’t think they realise I have quite literally a non-existent relationship with my own father. I haven’t spoken to him since summer when I visited, and even then I felt like a stranger around him. I didn’t know how to be comfortable around my dad. I get to see my dad once a year, if that. It’s so depressing. When on earth did my family get so fucked up? I’m sick of it.
I have the most beautiful keyboard ever.
It has a mouse attached to the end of it, so it’s like “keyboard -> trackpad”
It’s so beautiful I think I may cry. I love typing on it too, it’s so neat and cute.
I’m not sure whether today was good or not.
Luke and I went to the V & A and the science museum which was pretty cool, then after a quick break in Costa we went down into Knightsbridge and I went a bit fashion crazy and strolled casually into boutiques, Dolce & Gabbana, Chanel, Gucci, Louis Vuitton to name but a few, and I loved it but every time I left the buildings empty-handed I realised how horrible this is. I could go into Chanel, smile politely at the doorman and pretend I belong for a few moments only to be brought back down to earth, realise I have £4 in my bank account and the only way I could afford Chanel would be through selling everything I own. Then I’d walk out and everyone in the shop would give us dirty looks because we didn’t get anything and we were obviously too poor to get anything in the first place.
I even felt that in the Apple store. I long to be able to afford an iPhone, or a MacBook Pro but I can’t because I have no job and my mother has a job that pays next to nothing. I had a thought last night, I was thinking of Luke and how he lives in this gorgeous house in the poshest town in Hertfordshire (the kitchen and dining room is about the same size as my entire ground floor. It’s huge.) and he lives there with his father, mother and sister and his father earns enough to support his entire family. His mother doesn’t work at all, whereas I am here in a working class town, in a small house that doesn’t have enough room to fit the massive amount of crap we have but apparently need, and it’s only me and my mum here but she can’t even afford to support her “family”. It doesn’t make sense. How can one man be able to support an entire family and lead a luxurious lifestyle yet a single mum can barely afford to care for one daughter and has to watch where every penny goes? I know they say that money can’t bring you happiness, but I say that’s bullshit. It can. It can bring you holidays, and designer shoes, and fancy possessions that make life so much easier and worry-free. Never in my life have I been rich and I spend every day around my rich friends pretending that I am one of them. I have expensive taste and I want to live a luxurious life, I have no option but to get a good job and hope that it pays well. I doubt this will be the case though seeing as an art gallery is hardly the place to earn a six-figure salary.
