[The following conversation took place a few years ago. – Owen]
So why did you decide to come out here to work?
I don’t know.
Being home was getting to me
You’ve been seeming kind of depressed
I’m a little lost, professionally
Being in the arts is… very precarious.
No matter how you slice it, it actually is
A popularity contest.
Do people want to see my work?
To buy it?
Or do they prefer someone else’s?
… and, it feels like
I don’t have any friends anymore.
I text people, but
They don’t text back…
Unless they need something.
I miss having girl friends to do things with.
I’d love a game night, a trivia night,
You know, someplace where I can just let go.
I don’t know, I just
Like what I do doesn’t matter,
Like I don’t matter, and
Like.. garbage, really
Does sitting outside help?
It’s peaceful out here
What do you think about what I just said?
That, that’s got to be really hard,
Feeling all of that.
Depression is really… hard
Do you have any suggestions?
Your work is amazing, and it (and you) will find your audience.
Friends are hard. I don’t have a great answer there other than to say
Not to give up trying. If I wasn’t your husband, I’d want to be your friend,
Because you’re pretty cool
Why don’t you and I do something this weekend?
Why don’t we go up to Bugg’s Mill Farm tomorrow?
I don’t think so. I’m not really a farmer
It’s not farming. It’s horseback riding
I don’t know… oh, okay.
But I hear it’s supposed to rain.
Please don’t think when I’m depressed it’s because
I don’t appreciate you
That thought has crossed my mind.
But — I hear — everything is not about me
Hard to fathom isn’t it?