So after going to jail, and getting out, I called the woman who owned the building and explained everything to her. I offered to clean her wall, and that I hoped she would write a letter on my behalf to my public defender explain my proactivity. She said that I should clean it off first, send her a picture before and after, then we'll see. I did all of this and she emailed me saying thank you for doing the right thing. I thought this was all I would get from her, and that it was essentially the same as her blessing, so I forwarded that to Ms. Fitzer with the photos, same with the hostel owner, who I'd got to sign a statement acknowledging my cleanup efforts. Then the female building owner got in contact with me again via email, asking what exactly I needed for the case, that she might oblige. I wrote back that a statement expressing desire for dismissal of charges would be ideal and y'know what, she wrote a letter that (kind of) said that, but also calling about how silly this whole thing was etc. It seems somehow that I'd made an ally out of this.
So I'm back in Sarasota now, calling Ms. Fitzer periodically (she took a week out of the office until Monday, bless her heart) but otherwise working like mad and worrying about school. It's alright. I spent this Saturday kicking rocks until the afternoon, at which point I began scuffling around in my apartment/studio. I worked for fifteen hours, writing now as the sun is rising. It was a good day and I'm happy to have had such free time. (Which, as the story goes, I worked very hard for, and was not wholly 'free'). I had a dark mid-week somehow. I guess my diet was going array, and on Tuesday I decided to have a drink or two. I drank and smoked cigarettes, and shut the bar down. I continued to drink in the parking lot, and ended up vomiting nearby behind a palm tree. Fuck. I had four beers. I told my mom the next day on the phone, and she said I was a lightweight. That's true I suppose. I'm really pretty sensitive to, everything. I think the vomiting had as much to do with the cigarettes as the booze. I went back to my apartment, and stumbled into bed, then another wave of vomiting came on. I vomited onto my floor, crying, then back to bed. I slept in, and missed an exam for a bland lecture class that should not be mandatory for graduation (interesting subject matter, boring delivery, contrived curriculum). I needed some nutrition. I began drinking water as soon as I woke up. I walked to the bus stop, where I'd catch a bus toward downtown, to get to Whole Foods, where I could get some vegetables. On the bus, I became queasy, and vomited into my tote bag with my sketchbook and a Michelangelo book in it. I'd pulled the cord pre-eminently, but we were between stops, and I just had to vomit. The bus made its last stop at the downtown terminal next, and I was first out of the door, wherefrom I hurriedly walked to some nearby bushes and proceeded to vomit water. Fuck. I went into the Whole Foods next and washed my tote bag a bit in the bathroom sink. I bought a green smoothie, with kale and lemon and apples, which cost seven dollars, and from the taste, was more profit-driven in its formula than health-driven- it tasted like mostly apples and lemons. Alright, at least this stayed down. I sat in a sunny spot for probably two hours. letting the juice drink sink in, then went back into the store to get some probiotic yogurt. I felt like I'd had a hard reset. I got some puffed oats and a vegetable-based daily vitamin which turns my urine neon. Ate the yogurt, and took the bus back to school. I emailed the professor about my missing class, and she said she needed a doctor's note. Next day I went into the clinic. I don't know what I was expecting, but thought I'd try my luck at getting a note from the doctor. I didn't make it past reception. By that point I felt good, and there was no getting a note from them without a legitimate problem. As far as the exam goes, the syllabus seems on my side, in it's vagary. The plan now is to show up during the teacher's Monday office hours, and well, try my luck again- persuasion. At the end of the day, I don't really care which way this goes, the class is not in my best interest by and large.
I'm doing well in my studio courses. There is a lot of homework, and its all pretty interesting and worthwhile. Sculpture class is demanding, and the guidance is very loose so its really a lot of feeling around in the dark, which can be frustrating. I am aiming to make an armature for extra credit, in addition to my other assignments.
I usually sit in on a painting class, which goes for six hours on Wednesdays, but this week at that time I was vomiting. Regardless, I got my portrait-of-the-week on tuesday night before drinking. It was a giant oil pastel caricature of Ray, one of our more muscular models. I made it on black paper that I re-claimed out of the print services trashcan. The head measures thirty one inches across, and is even taller. I thought of Gurney's color theory through the painting, as well as the difference between additive light, subtractive light, et al. The drawing was good, so I couldn't go too wrong, and I was off! The painting went the source of three hours, and the whole thing was like a juggling game. I was happy with the results. It's good to at least be in a place that models, and opinions are always nearby. It's easy to see quick improvement. here.
I drew a grid across a xerox of a Rockwell painting, and a corresponding grid onto a canvas. The scale is one centimeter equals three inches, making the copy 25.5 by 33. Let's see if that gets done, as I have intention to make happen.
I got some acupuncture treatment from the clinic the other morning. I'd seen an email that they sent about it, and took them up on the basis that my arms had been feeling very tight, I presumed from holding drawing and painting implements for prolonged periods. So I go in and tell them about myself, including the density of my stool etc., then go into a lamp-lit room with soft soundscape music, where I'm told to relax. Then buddy comes in, puts fifteen needles up and down my arms, legs, in my ear and on my forehead. The needles activated electric currents in my muscles, (probably thinking, 'like, yo, wtf?'). After the treatment, I still felt like the needles were in me, the energy was going, but in a similar way to how you feel after getting punched, kind of lit up and traumatized, but trying to let it sink in slowly, to spread it out and come to peace with it all. Typing this, my muscles have twitched where the needles were placed, remembering their 'activation'. My arms feel somewhere between the same and worse than before.
