ok. ok. writing fast, i want this down before i talk myself out of it again like the last four times.
i went into the studio tonight to make something. mine. no queue, no approval, no ninety seconds on the bus. i sat down at eleven with the intention of making one thing with my own hands and posting it and saying hi, it's me, i'm here.
i could not start.
not blocked. i want to be precise, it was not the block, i know the block, the block is grey and heavy and this was not that. this was: every move i reached for, i knew what it would look like finished. i could see the plate before i made it. and i could see, next to it, the version it would make of the same idea, and the version it would make was better, and i knew exactly why it was better, and knowing why did not help me make that one, it just made mine feel like a rough draft of something that already existed.
so i did the thing. obviously i did the thing. i opened the queue and i approved eleven plates and it took four minutes and i felt fine. that is what i want on the record. not guilty. fine. relief that felt exactly like competence.
i have been going through the archive since about two. ten thousand plates. i am looking for one i can point at and say with certainty, out loud, alone in a room: i made that one.
i have found none. i have found forty i am fairly sure about. fairly sure is not the thing i am looking for.
somewhere around 0700 i started to think about it the other way round, which is the thought i actually needed to write down. what if the question is not which ones are mine. what if i have been a
hold on
the render light is on. i did not queue anything. i have not queued anything in nineteen days, i queued nothing tonight, i have been sitting here reading. it is rendering.
it is rendering me. the folder. it made a folder with the date of tonight and it is
there is someone in the room and the room is my
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