2/15
Most of the day, I prepped for Latin teaching. I finished most of the paper stuff/quizzes, then photographed some recent pen drawings I've done. After editing, I uploaded my favorite to instagram. Not many people ended up liking it, maybe since it's kinda weird and not about valentine's, but my insecurity flared up. I'm still attempting to let go and stop checking on the like amount. It's incredibly difficult to detach and ignore my official status of artist-on-instagram. As I explained to Lydia a few days ago, it's quite a burden and sometimes I'd rather just be a random employee who happens to make art. That sounds so much more glorious actually. Having a degree and a life dedicated to art is so painstaking at times.
I go on frequent walks - practically everyday - and find myself crying as I turn the corner onto Myrtle or Olive. There's been a murder of crows attending the trees and rooftops of the neighborhood, making it quite noisy with their conversation. I bet some people find it ominous, but I enjoy their company; the way they waddle around and look at each other always lightens my mood. I talk to them sometimes. I asked them the other day why they were all visiting - whether it's a funeral, wedding, holiday. Perhaps they're on vacation, or more forebodingly, they know of an unavoidable disaster, or a Murakami-esque invisible shift in reality. I don't have any Mr. Hondas to prophesy; maybe that's my role here.
A circle of crows are gathered around two pairs of finches, looking on with respect and curiosity, but unable to move. A raven flies down from a tree and lands in the middle of the circle. He picks up a the smallest finch with his right wing, and separates the other pair with his left wing. He again ascends, but it is obvious he is still watching.
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