Wanting to be Not-Thinking, that is to say, Painting, Again

Painting has nothing to do with thinking, because in painting thinking is painting. Thinking is language – record-keeping – and has to take place before and after. — Gerhard Richter, The Daily Practice of Painting

The studio remodel has eaten my painting practice. I haven't been in the studio to paint since before last Wednesday, when the electricians came to move and reinstall the ventilator unit my father so generously bought me. (I realized after they'd gone away the first time that having it placed right in front of the door was stupid:  it needs to be right in the middle of the room, where I generally stand, beaming its ray of clean fresh air right in my face. Sad to pay another $350 to redo something, but sadder still to feel dissatisfied with a remodelling project immediately after it's finished, I tell myself.)

Finally, at the age of 33, fresh air in the studio! I only hope — fervently — that I haven't killed too many of my brain cells off already. I've been feeling particularly stupid and out of it today (I blame the time change:  woke up feeling groggy and worthless at 8am this morning, and went about in a fog for most of the morning. I want my hour back, dammit!), as I tried to figure out a good way to build in bookcases for the studio. I would put something down — my mechanical pencil, the tape measure, my carpenter's square, safety googles, dust mask, you name it — and literally 30 seconds later could not find it for the life of me. It was grim. For a second or two I seriously considered whether Alzheimer's Disease ever sets in in one's early thirties.

At this rate, it's going to take me a week to finish these dumb bookcases. I know everyone says that things always take twice as long as you think they're going to, but I swear, with me it's at least 5 times as long. I'm going to give myself a deadline, right here in the public square:  bookcases will be finished and studio will be a clean, mean, painting machine by Sunday night. That way I can enjoy my week of spring break properly, getting back into the swing of my own painting practice and not thinking about students or school AT ALL.

Oh, except for stinking jury-duty. Because I would have to fulfill my civic duty during my week of vacation. Perfect.