My first night in the convent. I always knew I didn’t belong in one of these! If you are devoted to a life of silence then it works, because every step you take, every fart you make, is a blissful relief to the torturous silence you and your roommates have committed yourself too. If, on the other hand, you prefer joyousness and lively banter while you’re awake, and silence and privacy when you sleep – you’re screwed. Perhaps that’s a poor choice of words for an old convent, but you get the picture.
To summarize – I did not sleep. Tonight, I’ve had a bottle of wine and an Advid PM – so I’m hoping for better results.
Our studios are in a very old building that has never been renovated. The walls are scarred from the hundreds of artists that came before me. Small gifts of the unused canvas, paint, turp, and towels are there to welcome us – along with failed paintings and other artistic slop. It has a certain charm. I found gessoed paper that I was free to screw up or be brilliant on. It was a fun morning. Delirium set in just after lunch. The afternoon proved to be a bit less fruitful. I started and scrubbed out 4 pieces. I went back to my room, skyped my family, and took a nap – perhaps my most brilliant move of the day.
It’s almost midnight. There is a full moon lighting up the terrace. I’m happy to be here. I’m looking forward to what I will learn – and I hope I sleep through the night.
But before I turn in – were all nuns short – and agile??? I think this place was built for nimble dwarves. If you manage to look up to avoid the head injury, you will trip on the nonsensical steps. Perhaps they were meant to trip up the priests? No disrespect intended, but after a week I think many artists here will either have bumped their heads or broken a toe. Perhaps there is some method to it… The squat tripping painters – could be a rock band. Ciao