Today i finished painting a copy of Vincent Van Gogh's Potato Eaters: (The image is Van Gogh, not me)
And John appeared from no where and made profound noises. Finishing though? It felt ...bad. Maybe because it was a copy? I can't place or describe quite why it felt so underwhelming, maybe part of it was "finishing". Finishing stuff sucks. I also finished a book today, called Bird by Bird (you should read this. it's about writing, which sounds lame, but she can actually write about writing and its okay. Actually its great. Read it.) Finishing that book sucked, I felt so empty and the desolate sound of the wind howling outside my window and the uncharacteristically gray sky today either sympathized with or created this feeling of discontent. The painting felt like that. I thought I'd feel proud, or accomplished, but really all i felt was "now what the hell do i do?"
On another note, my madame's grand daughter is chilling at home for the week because she's on break. Last night at dinner she started singing american songs in typical french style, that is to say she murmured and made up words and had no idea really what she was saying. Sometimes this is really funny. I walked home one night, the air was full of a drunken french chorus singing "We are the Champions" but it sounded more like "Weeee errr de champpppeeonssss" I feel exalted every time i hear this song, but this is getting off track. The songs that the grand daughter sang ranged from bad to worse. She started singing Rihanna's S&M, dappled in some Lady Gaga, and then all of a sudden made a plunge into the "Fuck you" song. My face went from uncomfortable smile to uncomfortable. i guess this is a form of American imperialism or whatever. Mostly i just hate pop music, and good lord I don't understand how anyone can just listen to that shit and eat it and shit it and eat it again. Sorry, I try to sympathize. I try to smile and say "ooh yeah that is catchy". But I hate it.
