Impending finals. Deadlines approach. Applications due. Less than a month, and I’m on what is quite possibly my seventy-ninth draft of this personal statement, which theoretically should verbalize my entire purpose in the pursuit of art. Thus far I have said nothing worth reading, nothing which seems capable of setting me apart from anyone else in the inundation of worthy applicants parading their trove of talents across these admissions committees. I feel aimless, as I try to put into words the insatiable knot of energy that so constantly threatens to explode if I don’t release it through some visual means of communication. How do you illustrate passion in six hundred words? I’ve never spent so much time writing so little on anything.
The most terrifying part, of course, is knowing that I have only one chance to woo them with uncharacteristically positive statements about myself.
I recognize that instead of expending my enthusiasm on this post, I should be putting all my efforts into an eightieth draft, but somehow the not looking at the cluttered document I’ve now stared at for the last month seems significantly more productive than any amount of editing could be.
So in the meantime, I might as well post the newest addition to my installation, a self-portrait-in-progress, which will stand *almost* isolated on the wall opposite the one I pictured yesterday:
Also, for your audial enjoyment, the song of the day is Black Star, by Radiohead. You’re Welcome.