time acquiesced
Going to the studio devoid of ideas, knowing that I likely won’t find inspiration, that I won’t feel like a genius, that I might piddle around, note things, think, but not feel grasped by anything in particular - the small insistent feeling of: but try, but go to the studio.
That is romance -that is trust and self belief and a very quiet determination. Close to pathetic, but that feels necessary and life giving, even as it wears.
Even as the hope gets threadbear, even as the desperation hangs in my breath, there is romance.
[the mysteriousness of love/excitement][remoteness from everyday life]