Dear Diary,

Sure has been a while since I wrote to you. 

Life as I know it has changed a bit. Presently, I'm packing up both studio and home and moving to the southwest-to an area a bit south of Santa Fe, where the tarantulas roam.

New Mexico will be my new home-or hacienda, as it were. 

I won't try and fill you in on the whys of this move-let's call it a conscious effort to stop the growth of roots under me here in NJ. Almost a lifetime spent here is plenty- I'm ready to go. I can hear my parents rolling around down there, asking me why the hell I want to go and do this….

The shedding of excess goods (and, trust me, there is plenty of excess), shifting of daily-used objects and tools, and all the subsequent packing following has left my life upside down. Going to a part time job has been my one source of real order in the topsy-turvy mayhem I've created.

What is starting to really tell on me, what has started to really grind is not doing any artwork for over a month now. I knew that I'd miss it and couldn't imagine how I'd get through this time. Unfortunately, there is more of the same in store: the earliest I figure to be able to do any work is mid-September-and that's if everything goes smoothly, without any hitches. 

There has been a feeling of loss of identity. This, coupled with all the sentimental items I've had to sift through (I have mounds of stuff from recently emptying my parents' house, never mind all the things I've saved and stored because it never seemed right to discard them), has been wearing on me rather visibly the past few days. I can't pull off any marathon days-my emotional state simply will not allow it. Besides, the heat of the season and the range of the nature of the job (between jaggedly emotional and so boring you feel as if your brain were being sucked out) also create some serious barriers to working very long hours.

In theory, I thought that I'd seek some sort of fulfillment by doing small paper paintings at home. But the reality has been that I'm way too tired to function even on a simple level, never mind at a creative one.

The dog has kept me going-he disappears at the right times, but also lets me know when we've been too long at a certain task. Yesterday, I packed seven boxes, ripped up more high school drawings, chucked out more superfluous family photos, disassembled a motor-driven machine in order to pack it and made a trip to the dumpster, "losing" six bags of garbage and discards. The work goes on, even though it's tough to see any real progress as my pace is so slow.