I woke up and, still dreaming, I was absolutely confident that destiny had emailed me in the night with brilliant news.

He didn’t. So I got up and went to work.

I can’t remember when I last justified spending time reading up about what people are “thinking right now- art wise” or non art wise, or what they last bought, or when their art arrived or….whatever.

I really miss it too.

Tonight, with my house move just around the corner (there are only the really awkward things left to pack) I found myself on my favourite forum. I hate the chaos of packing up my life and this is as good an excuse as any to retreat from the packing tape and empty CD cases.

If there’s ever a thread about my own art, I don’t go near it. A sort of wise someone once said “don’t read your own thread, it’ll fuck you up better than your parents did” and so I don’t- not that I ever wanted to. Nothing good could possibly come from it. I’m way to insecure for that to go well- I could find something bad in even the sweetest comment. It’s nice enough that people take the time to write- even if it’s to be shit about me (which oddly gets me more traffic. I have a great stats package, you see)

Sometimes though, I awkwardly stumble upon a reference to myself or my work in a completely unrelated thread and it’s awkward akwardly awkwardness. Like walking into the bathroom and seeing yourself already sitting on the loo.

Tonight it was a comparison between myself and another artist that caught me. And for every time someone makes the comparison (which is more than a few) I disagree with it less. And I know it’s really easy to look at work and immediately leap to a decision about what it most reminds you of- but fuck, man. *I though you were different.*

Then the impulse to PM the offender and say ” just by the way, I’m Candice Tripp and I saw your comment and just had to get in touch because, I don’t know, it’s like watching you walk to the phone to answer it while I stand at the window making the call.  Just so you know, I disagree with you. Not in an annoyed, this gets under my skin angry sort of way. I just can’t see it. At all. It’s like when I was little and people would call orange red. I’d just not understand how they couldn’t see a colour for what it is- or rather, limit their whole world to only four colours so that every other hue in existence is incorrectly labelled.  That’s all. I thought you might find it funny- like an added annoying facet to the argument- that even I disagree with you but don’t have the confidence to out and out say you’re wrong, because I don’t necessarily think you are, although you really might be. Anyway, I don’t want to go into it. I just hope you had more than the combination of ink and negative space to back up your argument, but I’m sure you do. Just wanted to drop you a line. Thanks by the way, for everything. I hope you’re well!

But then I don’t send the message because it’s the very embodiment of pointlessness.

I suppose that teaches me for snaking around the forum like creeping Jesus.

And with that, I’m going to go and decide which of my knickers are past their prime.

Since when does the BBC use words like “fudged” and “twigged”?

They may be words in the colloquial, inescapable sense but they have zero integrity and sound silly coming out of button-down serious sorts on the telly.

Come on!

Lyndall brought this awesome bunny back from South Africa for me.

It’s one of those odd things that I can’t believe I didn’t already have, despite being completely unaware of its existence.

It’s perfectly perfect.

Thank you, Lyndall!

For the first time in my adult life.

I also flipped off a BNP van this afternoon. They had banners and loudhailers. I might’ve come off as the bigger asshole.

Yes…no…y…pish posh, who gives a fuck.