• Marina

My Room

Обновлено: 7 окт. 2018 г.

Old apartments can be very aggressive. Mine attacks me with splinters, mould and insects while the wires sparkle and whisper "one night, you and your paintings will burn alive”.

This building was built in 1906 and seems to have never been repaired since then. The water heater is so old that repairmen don’t have details to fix it, so I never know if water will burn or freeze me (it can change temperature dramatically while you’re taking shower). My landlord’s universal answer on any problem is “you need it - you deal with it”.

The reason I live here is that it’s relatively cheap and I can sleep and paint here. It’s tricky to do both in one small room, but I developed many space saving skills during my lifetime. However, such a lifestyle takes a lot of energy, which I don’t always possess.

I caught cold again after not eating and sleeping well in London, two factors enough for me to get ill. I also broke another tooth, while eating "cheap" English sandwich, despite I visited dentist less than a month ago. I still didn't call my doctor, because it's just too much for me, I can't think of getting another root canal treatment and dental crown...And how silly it was to go to London, while teeth keep falling from my mouth like wilted autumn leaves...

Maybe if I had a studio, I would go there and paint today, but here I need to wait for the washed laundry to dry first (it’s hanged all around my all-in-one room) so that it will not be accidentally stained with oil. Then I put it back into Ikea boxes, remove the canvas from the shelves, put boxes with dry clothes on the shelves…then repeat the procedure so canvasses will get dry on the shelves and boxes will get back on the floor. Now, when I’m sick, I can’t even think about doing all those movements. Sometimes I feel like my whole life is about moving boxes from place to place.

This building is a half abandoned and its going to be demolished. There is only myself, my roommate, illegal immigrants, some criminal guys, a couple of drug addicts, a few old men and big community of cockroaches - the only society in which I fit perfectly.

It makes me sad that many of my fans criticised me for starting selling merchandise, they want me to be “pure artist”, but I don’t have rich father like Degas or brother Theo like van Gogh. To survive, I have to at least pay rent for this shitty room...

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