I've been pretty mind-less since June 8, when Riley's heart condition was diagnosed. From the awfulness of her last month to my sadness since her death, to the external focus of my day job, and now to the drama of little Glenwood, my emotional state has been so reactive to outside events that what's going on inside me is remote. I'm so distracted I don't even know where I am. (I tried a new subway route to work today and ended up back in Brooklyn before realizing I got on the right train in the wrong direction.) And when I do have the opportunity to sit with myself, I've been furthering the disconnect rather than risk being with myself. Not good.
I've continued to make work, but it's like talking out of the side of my mouth. That's not a comment on what I've made, but about my experience making it. It's like when someone asks what I do and I describe my jobs then say, Oh, and I'm an artist. I treat myself like an afterthought or, worse, habitually deaden myself in the very act of trying to enliven myself (ironically).