I have realised that I only paint when I am depressed. My mother in law was in town over the weekend and she always compliments my 'creativity', which I appreciate. This weekend she asked me if I was working on anything knew and I immediately came to the realisation that for the first time since I have been in New York I have had absolutely no desire to paint. I must be happy, how strange that my happiness can be measured by the amount of paintings I produce per year. I'm f'ng nuts. I am gonna end up like this guy.

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