My problem is, I vacillate between thinking I'm an artist and a scholar. Some days I want to chuck it all and head for the hills with my paintbox. Other days I think burying myself in esoteric articles about whether quality is measurable is the greatest pursuit on the planet. I feel like I'm going nuts.It's fun to look at my old drawings, though. They have nothing to do with scholarly research. But they sure are funny. Oh boy, now I'm back in Art Hell. Argh! Why can't someone pay me to draw and paint what I want?
I predict that in about one year, I will have a similar complaint, but it will be along the lines of "Why can't someone pay me to research and study what I want?"
Which leads me back to what I've known all along. I'm a chronic malcontent. Nothing will truly make me happy, because happiness for a chronic malcontent is unattainable. Why do I even bother talking about it, nobody cares. Bla bla bla.
