It’s terrible to leave the lessons at the midday but I have done so. The smell of damp leaves on the alphalt and soft colours of the sky didn’t make it easier to figure out how did I manage to lose all my goal-orientation at the workshops. There is some strange inner disarray.

At the art department this is the day of the summer shows for the elder courses. It means corridors full of people, dirty easels, messy bags, piles of canvases and heaps of papers. The students were jumping to and fro arranging pictures in front of the teachers while they were so impatient and harsh. The pictures were nice but typically academical. Papers at the dirty grey-black floor. 7879616c80744a11e8eca7c53932fb85

In our class there were girls of eighteen and two sets for painting. While I was obediently sketching it in my folder some great anginess and rancour bursted out inside me. Unnoticable stomp. Please, free me of the silly talks and disorganised people. Free me of hard painting lessons with canvases and unwieldy easels. Those are not my people, it’s evident.

But the same time I hadn’t a grain of envy to Mary who went somewhere to help with decorations. Where is my zeal to create sets? (clumsy laughing and long gasp) Without any exagerations I’m not happy with my study and I need more clear and rigid decisions. And certainly I need support because there is not a person I can maintain on (not including one good talk with Mary P. at Saturday). Everybody still presumes I’m willing to potter with the canvas.

 

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