I remember an episode about a year and a half ago.
Late at night I was readying myself to paint for a project. Browsing through an online gallery of Salvador Dali’s work and listening to Regina Spektor’s Samson over and over again, for at least two hours. Clicking, half awake, half asleep, aware of the throbbing pain on the side of my head. But I didn’t mind at all.. I was in a trance. It was the last time I was in a trance. I used to have trances when I hypnotize myself with something. But since that night, I stopped. I don’t know why.
That evening provided huge emotional and sentimental value to both of the artists who I am consuming. Clicking, half awake, half asleep, with the pain throbbing on the side of my head, I’d die to repeat it all over again. Humid, warm, cold sweat, uneasiness but tranquil at most. I was absorbing as much memories as I could during those minutes. I fell in love with whatever I could remember.
Since then I’ve tried to find that feeling again, on nights like these that I seek for inspiration. Trying to hypnotize myself. Looking for that feeling. Since then nothing could hit the spot. It’s empty, I feel like a wannabe trying to feel what it’s supposed to feel. The desperation is gone. It’s not as urgent as before.