Troebia's Diary

[Mental Fairy]

I should do this with my ex husbands belongings!

[troebia]

I should do this with my ex husbands belongings!

Just make sure you get a burn permit from the local council and you should be golden People over here have become very antsy about fire and smoke, and the police even came and checked on me when I burnt some clippings the day before the filming.

[troebia]

Now having attacks of anxiety and impostor syndrome. Now how can anyone feel like an impostor, if they recognize that they are unemployable, unable to concentrate on anything for a decent period of time and also constantly feeling out of place? Who am I comparing myself to?

Maybe it's because I made the reckless mistake yesterday of falling into a deep internet rabbit hole pursuing god-level comics creators such as Jean Giraud ("Moebius") and Charles Burns, and also ran headfirst into the Vollard Suite by Picasso. In those black and white etchings, Picasso bares it all and draws himself (sometimes as a Minotaur) in different sexual scenarios with his lover and sometimes also his wife. It's first titillating, then perverse and finally tragic. It's a bit like a rocket that shoots up into the stratosphere and explodes, and what gets to me is the total nudity and massive darkness of the soul.

I have quite a bit of void in my own small way... when I was young I had some very loose and undefined relationships that could have gone any which way, but all of them blew up in my face. Sweden in that decade was such a crazy place because you could get employment and rent a flat very easily and lots of young people who weren't studying just floated around, from job to job, often town to town, hookup to hookup. I was gradually sinking into depression because life seemed so empty. It was at that time in life before you think about a real relationship, or the future for that matter. I didn't know then that learning a craft would probably have saved me. I was a leaf in the wind and anything could impress me or make me change direction. I had never had a mentor figure in my life since my father ignored me and my mother was either always away working or dodged every single problem I had for example at school with a deer-in-the-headlights reaction: if she just could keep her eyes closed for long enough and not move a muscle, it would all go away and she wouldn't have to imply herself or dirty her academic little brain with down to earth issues.

Lately I've been thinking that some kind of circle has been closing. I'm still (as ever) on the outside of society looking in, and if I were 19 or 20 years old today I would shake things up completely as I would do when things came to a standstill. I'm too old for that now, though.

[troebia]

It's first titillating, then perverse and finally tragic. It's a bit like a rocket that shoots up into the stratosphere and explodes, and what gets to me is the total nudity and massive darkness of the soul.

And I want to underscore that while Picasso was certainly a great artist who did works that merit admiration, he was also a massive dickhead and abuser of women. As if that wasn't obvious after you see drawings where he mythologises himself as a rapist.

[troebia]

picasso.jpg (17.48 KiB) Viewed 2004 times

Yes, I see now why I have been circling and obsessing about Picasso lately: he represents the dominant, demanding father figure and I wasn't worth his time. A dream: I am shrivelling and shrinking into a small raisin, and my father pushes me back into my mother's womb where I will be reabsorbed into her alcohol-saturated bloodstream. "You failure!" My narcissistic aunt is there too, laughing diabolically and increasing her dominance over my mother as she pours her another drink and continues talking about herself. What a fucking nightmare, Dr. Freud. Btw here's an article on Picasso's abuse: https://www.vogue.co.uk/article/picasso-sexism

[snoringdog]

Hello Troebia,

Following with interest.

Picasso? Fuck him, Ugly man.... he dead...
But not you! Carpe Diem.

A few interesting items -

https://www.euronews.com/culture/2024/06/24/tasmanian-museum-hangs-picassos-in-womens-toilet-after-discrimination-complaint

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2017/11/09/how-picasso-bled-the-women-in-his-life-for-art/

[troebia]

He dead, but still floating under much of contemporary art like a ghost. I loved the story about the Tasmanian ladies room.

Having more vivid dreams about my family, the darkness lingers. So alone in my thoughts that they rattle around by themselves, I'm aware. Strangely have not felt the need for Xanax lately.

[Mental Fairy]

Your posts are very powerful Troebia.

[Mental Fairy]

Thinking of you Troebia. Hope you’re holding up ok.

[troebia]

Status update, some gears are moving and other are firmly rusted together. I'm ruminating on how my perception and interpretation of things (yeah, Marcus Aurelius, I read you) is governing my mood and pushing me to drink and drug myself with Xanax. The inside (thoughts) and the outside (actions) should ideally be in sync, not so at the moment.

Some tiny progress on the privacy front and MIL: even my wife is now showing some signs of fatigue, and the occasional "...yeah, whatever, mom" will escape her. It's not an eternal domestic situation, but I hesitate to estimate the years. Heck, I don't even know if I'll be the first to go. My wife, out of the blue conceded the other day that she thought it would be a good idea to move the TV and sofa where MIL spends her existence into the bedroom adjacent to the living room. We'll get a new TV and move a bed and some other furniture to another room so that the dining/living room finally will be a neutral "normal" space. I'll be able to get up in the morning without feeling observed. I will even be able to [gasp] sit at the kitchen table in the evening without having to endure any sort of surveillance, theatrics or comments. I simply can't believe it until it really happens, and when it does it may prove positive for our relationship.

I'm trying to make peace with the tinnitus and the hypoacusis, but it's so difficult to concede to an enemy that doesn't give a shit and does not negotiate. I've maybe "only" lost 10-20% of actual perception, but any sudden louder noise (that others harmlessly can ignore for a while) pierces my brain and leaves a loud footprint. Because the frequencies of interference go up and down, it's not something one can habituate to. One tinnitus sufferer was saying on a forum that once she became definitely "deaf" it felt like a liberation. This weekend my wife and I went to a city near here and visited a tall moorish tower. At the top in the belfry, suddenly a voice interrupted the tasteful lute music soundtrack saying "We advise the visitors currently at the top of the tower that the bells of the clock are about to ring", and I was throwing myself down the stairs like a crazy person as the loud clanging started.

Artistically I've both advanced a bit and begun feeling like I'm stuck in a rut. I finished compiling drawings from old sketchbooks since 2019, and have put the rest into a pile. I told my daughter to salvage what she likes and throw the rest into the woodbin, and when she's visiting here while working online she'll sometimes leaf through a sketchbook or two. While doing new stuff now I can at least tell almost straight away if it's going somewhere, or simply tear it up and start over. It feels good to draw and paint now and I get inspired all the time: my latest "thing" is using flat brushes, with vibes of early computer graphic design, pixelated glitches and distortions in glaring colors...retro and futuristic at the same time. MF, would you care to share some of the drawings you mentioned?