I’ve called this blog many things, but it’s just a blog and I like the word blog even though I’m told I should not use the word blog. I’m not supposed to sign my paintings either. Not on the front. Just the back. All these rules that take out the satisfaction. Am I being nostalgic about stupid shit? Eva, did you enjoy your years off from writing? Writing about self-importance, after enjoying reading someone else write about self-importance, might be self-important. A thought.

My desk is heavy brown wood sits perpendicular to an old third-floor window of Parisian charm. But in Brooklyn. I have two mansions, I tell people. for $700 a month. I think I need to stop telling people that because it makes them sad. It’s too dreamy. Well whatever I met a girl who said she pays $250 or $100 or $500 to live in Chinatown with all this studio space and I didn’t roll over and die. I felt like, if such a place exists for her, then such a place must exist for me. And here I am. There I was. There’s I’m going. I’m going to Paris tomorrow. And I’m going to paint in Venice.

I moved here for more space and because it is more affordable. My life is very complicated but I like to keep it simple. I need to. I’m a furnace and I’m a bomb and I have too much life force and I use up a lot of it keeping myself in check and being civilized and not saying what I wish I could say but you just can’t act like that. You need to save it for special occasions when it counts.