Yesterday I spent three hours to program a new page that ended up not being perfect. This is a classic frustration that I would say I have to overwind. (= Genglish: Overwinding has nothing to do with wind, it is the idea of getting over that is expressed in the word überwinden, which has nothing to do with wind as well.) I picked up the paper that we had made the other day and it really turns me on to soon sit in my studio and draw. I have to cancel an appointment for tonight, partially because I am not feeling that well and then see whether I can be diving into a fight with materials, a pencil slaughter against the lines of threads. There sometimes has to grow a tension between the material and me until we really can't avoid the lust to loose ourself and start a new series drawings. The accumulated power of months downloads then within a couple of days and I get excited as soon as I start and then I can't stop for days. But it takes a long time until this feeling arises and it is good. Then I remember the strong Wanja, who spent seven years on an oven and ate sunflower seeds and then got up and decided to be the Zar of Russia...I think I wrote about this story before, but he truly impressed me when I was a little girl. Writing, in comparison to drawing, requires more of a routine, it is more like painting or playing piano: after a while your fingers get stiff and your thoughts get stuck and the language is not so fluid anymore. With drawing this is an advantage because the drawing is more like a study, like a concentrated introversion of your thoughts culminating in lines, thought patterns, glued and put as collage together like they clasp in real life. The painting is ambitious and probably not so frightened for someone who paints daily, but for me I love the conglomerate of lines on innocent white paper, the transparent layers of thoughts and manual work that you compose to something whole. Now that I have this paper, it will be a little more difficult to work, because the layers are even more transparent than before and every dot will have a meaning and an important role to play in the composition. This is very tricky because sometimes a dot cannot hold what he's promised and the traces of deleting are still telling a story that you can't accept even if it's just a supernumerary or a minor role. The composition will have to carry the paper, which is already a every defined composition in itself. It is a blank very thick and heavy frame of white thick cotton paper and inside there is a piece of the finest transparent silk organza, a square of 14cm x 14cm with a frame of 7cm around. The seven stations of my journey to the east....whatever I have this strange relationship to the seven and for some reason I think my life will not necessarily have to change until I reach the 35, which was a big relief when I turned 30. The 28 was such a radical change that I am glad to not have to be completely disoriented turning thirty....7,14, 21 where much more important than my 18th birthday, that is completely non- existent in my memory board beside the fact that two month later I got my driver's license.