Silly thoughts blogged in the order in which they enter my brain.
It mostly is an isolationist form of life, doing books, doing pictures. And it’s the only true happiness I’ve ever, ever enjoyed in my life. It’s sublime. To just go into another room, and make pictures. It’s magic time. Where all your weaknesses of character, and all the blemishes of personality, and whatever else torments you, fades away. It just doesn’t matter. You’re doing the one thing you want to do and you do it well and you know you do it well. And you’re happy. The whole promise is to do the work, sitting down at the drawing table, turning on the radio. And I think, what a transcendent life this is. That I’m doing everything I want to do. And that moment I feel like I’m a lucky man… I’m clearing the decks for a simple death. You’re done with your work. You’re done with your life. And your life was your work…
—
MAURICE SENDAK
Before I was shot, I always thought that I was more half-there than all-there - I always suspected that I was watching TV instead of living life. Right when I was being shot and ever since, I knew that I was watching television.
— Andy Warhol
