let lemons be angry

Despite the good times, I am becoming the proverbial poor artist.

My type specimen book cost me fifty heartbreaking dollars because the only kind of paper available at the only available shop on monday was photo paper. Nice glossy finish aside, it doesn't fold well or sit well, leaving me with an accordion book that looks like a mockup. I will have to reprint it, assuredly with much angst.

And paint! It's alarming how much of this stuff I use, and I can't decide if I should spend more on good thick paint so it'll last longer, or buy more tubes of cheap oily paint. There're also damar varnish, turpentine, and linseed oil to buy, and new brushes. I feel like pawning the new clothes I bought.

Add to my bill the batik, humongous tassels, glitter and cane we bought for our Malay kite (which is falling apart most pathetically) and you see how my money disappears.

Things to look forward to though: the promised print centre in school, the grant that will buy me free paint for a year, and the school subsidy to work with for the next project. And please, more jobs. Please.

I probably shouldn't have bought those clothes and shoes, but my old ones had holes in them. They were therefore more of needs than wants, which puts the earth at rest. And poor or not, there's no way I'm going to start dressing like a poor artist.