Tonight was the graduate exhibition for the latest group at the Southbank Institute. I went along to see all my friends from the course. He was there, of course. With his wife - I recognised her from previous exhibitions that they'd attended together, back when she was his girlfriend. I didn't talk to him. I could have - she wasn't by his side all the time, and I could have at least nodded in his direction. But I didn't. We avoided eachother. And then he was gone. And I felt sorry that things had come to that. But being there, surrounded by the art, and with my friends from the best 2 years of my life was simply amazing. My shell split open again, and words were babbling out of my mouth before I could stem them. I was happy and laughing and looking at the art wistfully, thinking that I wished I could do it. I know I could. But I'm scared. I haven't done any art this year. Not art that counts. Portraits of friends' kids, housewarming abstract paintings, jewellery making. All commercial, populist type stuff. Will I ever have another time of my life where I feel so utterly free and content again? What do I need to do to get that back?
