Diary

"All my dreams, all my dreams fall like rain on a downtown train"

Good heavens, I am knackered. Absolutely exhausted. I just finished working on “Realistic Love Doll”, and pulled a full-blown trial/error-photoshoot on “Guns don’t kill people. Trump kills people” tonight. The first was so tricky to edit, that I almost lost my zen and threw my laptop out of the window and then tossed my body after it. Of course, as I live on the first floor it would have been more like a “cry for help”-thing, so after contemplating all the options I have I decided just continue working on it - it took 26 hours of editing job and 223 versions until I got it close to the point of acceptable. I simulated 2 promille alcohol poisoning by staying up until five AM, listening to the simplest disco tunes from 90s - “Barbie Girl” by Aqua on repeat does something to the brain, just saying.

I think I chose way too plain colour combination on the love doll-picture, yellow on yellow is like so drag, no nuances on the image, so I just kept on pushing it and pushing it - I guess I eventually got pretty close to how I saw it, but I just have to remember not to repeat the mistakes. I shot the key light a tad too close and didn’t check its angle before opening the file on Photoshop. Anyhow, it’s yesterdays news now, and just had to let it go, otherwise I would have gone mad.

Trump was a five minutes-editing job, very little corrections to be made.

IMG_4256.jpg

***

I have been thinking about the contest I left an application to - I have no idea how it will turn out. I can usually separate work things from my private life, but if I can be totally honest with you, it loops in my brain. In a way I think there’s no way that I’ll be selected to the exhibition for artists under 35 years, as I am too loud, too colourful, not academic enough (in the sense that I would jerk off my ideas intellectually in a form of an essay and call it part of the work), too much, too little… The results come by the end of this month, I am scared shitless that a) my name is on the list b) my name is NOT on the list. If… I was selected, I don’t know how it would affect on my working, would I get cocky? Like “Hey you peasants, I am one of the chosen artists for this exhibition everyone in Finland wants to get in, kiss my hands, kiss my feet” and drive around Helsinki in a convertible vintage Jaguar I’d steal from someone rich and do the royal hand wave from the passenger seat while my bestie screams “WE DON’T SELL MONKEYS” or something like that, for no apparent reason.

If I am not selected, I kiss my pooch goodbye, go to the woods, crawl into a fetal position and stay there until a bear comes and eats my head.

It would mean so much to me, to get credit for the work I do. I don’t think about the status, or the money (I’d just spend it on tennis balls or something equally irrelevant), only the credit. It would be a giant reward, to me, to get nominated but then again, everyone who applied feels probably the same.

***

Despite Rod Stewart’s few awful albums, he is a brilliant vocalist. It slowly dawned on me while I was editing the love doll-picture. I listened to “Downtown Train” on repeat for at least two or three hours and didn’t get used to the perfection of it. He took me on a journey, and stayed with me there until he gasps the few last high notes - his presence and technique is absolutely flawless. Things like these keep me going. Like finding passion, in a world that is filled with blurred, plastic objects and zero subjects.

Time for bed, I guess… See you soon.

X,

Leena