cigar-tin stories ninety-two / / pictures came and broke your heart
I don’t know what to write about in this week’s Tinyletter.
I went to bed early last night because I was tired. And I would have slept in, too, but the Siamese started coughing and coughing and I thought, Well, that’s it.
I would write about the provincial election but it’s all about the parties just trying to scare everyone into not voting for the other guy. The government has been in forever and can hardly keep their eyes open at this point, it’s one little sneaky scandal after another, but they are very clever, too, and quite slick about things, especially when it comes to planting tiny tiny hopes and fears but in the end they know (and pray, I think) that they are going to crash and burn here. And the party that is supposed to win (by default, it seems) is run by a guy who reminds me of someone who might sell you tons of insurance and then not honour it, saying that it was you who was trying to hit that meteor and maybe the meteor will sue you if you’re not careful and yes, you always had that space rock in your head and fine, let’s see you prove otherwise in court. And then the third party seems a bit watery and somewhat reasonable but then the other two parties say, No way, they’re communists! and they’ll ruin everything and remember Rae Days? And people do remember Rae Days even though it was a jillion years ago and they still get crazy about it because it has a pretty catchy name.
I would write about summer but Sunday was the first day that I thought it was really here.
I would write about work but please. Yesterday it was 27 degrees Celsius in there. And the floors are still filthy. Today I'm dressed like an unemployed tennis pro. But I still have a good view from my window so they say we’ll be moving down into the basement soon.
And I would write about art but at this point I think I’m just making it for myself. I mean, yes, I still sell work and it makes me quite happy to see the different places it lands but there’s certainly no stable money from it, I’m always just counting how many months of studio rent I have left, and anyway these things I make come from images and stories and dreams and ideas that are like little rivers of thought that I follow who knows where and even I only half understand most of the time. And even this newsletter I just write for free. Some kind of weekly exercise in something.
So, yeah, this week I’m at a loss. Let me know if you think of anything.
Enjoy the rest of your week, everyone,
Draw thing, paint things, write things, make things.
Also: this is a version of my Tinyletter, which you can subscribe to here. Thanks.