"I just felt I had nothing…. I felt I lost my family, home, car, dog, friends, money, pride, faith, dignity, and dream. All I have was shame.
But I was OK. I found a job and Apt. I was rather more cheerful and energetic than usual. Just only sometimes I started crying for no reason in a train, park, my room, street, anywhere. Just all of the sudden. I don't know why. I just could help it.
Then it was getting worth and started bothering me a lot.
But I was OK. I found a job and Apt. I was rather more cheerful and energetic than usual. Just only sometimes I started crying for no reason in a train, park, my room, street, anywhere. Just all of the sudden. I don't know why. I just could help it.
Then it was getting worth and started bothering me a lot.
It was the one of those days. You know, when you wake up, you feel still tired and you wish you could never have wakened up. You wish you were still in your dream.
I just felt empty when I woke up. I didn't see any excitement in my day. My empty heart was almost hurting or I guess I was feeling real physical pain, too.
I was just ready to give up my life. That doesn't mean I wanted to die… I just didn't want to live anymore. So I decided to let myself go. I sold my car for nothing. Actually I had to pay little bit. Anyway, with little money I had, I went to the Met. I didn't know why I just wanted to do some sketches. That was what I wanted for the last. In the Met, when I saw George Bellows’s paintings, I got the biggest breakdown. He was a good painter. Not my favorite painter. I don't really know what so special about his works, but just some of his paintings were really moving to me. Maybe the color.. maybe the brushworks. I don't know what was that. But I started crying. I mean really bad. I couldn’t breath and my head was pounding. I had to sit down and finally I had to leave…. Then I realized something was really wrong with me.
I just felt empty when I woke up. I didn't see any excitement in my day. My empty heart was almost hurting or I guess I was feeling real physical pain, too.
I was just ready to give up my life. That doesn't mean I wanted to die… I just didn't want to live anymore. So I decided to let myself go. I sold my car for nothing. Actually I had to pay little bit. Anyway, with little money I had, I went to the Met. I didn't know why I just wanted to do some sketches. That was what I wanted for the last. In the Met, when I saw George Bellows’s paintings, I got the biggest breakdown. He was a good painter. Not my favorite painter. I don't really know what so special about his works, but just some of his paintings were really moving to me. Maybe the color.. maybe the brushworks. I don't know what was that. But I started crying. I mean really bad. I couldn’t breath and my head was pounding. I had to sit down and finally I had to leave…. Then I realized something was really wrong with me.
I’ve been meeting with my support group. I am doing really well. I quit painting. I will find something for me. I am in NY. Anything can be possible, right?"
"saying good bye to my paintings. I will never love someone like i loved painting, but its time to move on. I dont see myself painting again. This is over. i sound like Adele."
"I will visit denton in July. and i will get rid of all paintings. Sadly they are going to a dumpster. If you are interested in, please let me know. i wont charge too much. it will be like 90% off..."
NY caused him to have a mental breakdown. I am not saying that everyone who goes there would suffer the way he did, but I don't think that it's worth the risk of giving up on art. He gave up on art even though he said "<insert his name> - art = nothin but a hound dog..." It's not worth losing oneself.
Byrne's article as well as the many others that have agreed with him about NY's failing support of new talent, only supports my decision further that, as of right now with the state NY is in, I would not live there.
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