So I found an apartment. The landlord has been kind enough to leave the door unlocked so that I can bring things over as I feel inclined. There is a refrigerator in the living room next to a pile of rubble, it is old and talks with the wind, the walls are an oppressive burnt orange, a blast of shit sits dry on the toilet from the previous tenant, there is no heat yet and the kitchen looks like one of those pictures you see in a Buzzfeed article titled; “10 most beautiful abandon places you have to visit before you die.” It’s a work in progress, and I’ll be calling it home soon.
In the mean time I need a place to work, so yesterday I set up a make shift studio in the second living room. This place is huge by the way. I set up a chair, an easel, and unpacked my altar onto the built in oak armoire which houses a drawer bed. I only need these three elements to claim a space. I was warned by the landlord that the space is haunted, so I spent some time yesterday making friends with the spirit, and setting boundaries, and I reinforced my rule that it can only make its presence known when I am making art, and even then, it is only permitted to watch. There was a moment as I spoke out loud to this spirit where I thought I might be officially losing my mind, but ultimately felt reassured that I am just becoming more myself.
I had an energy painting scheduled for 7pm so I needed this studio space to be in working order. I was particularly excited to do an energy painting for this individual because I hold this person in high regard as an artist and as a brilliant mind. I was a little self conscious of the state of the space, but I had a space heater and doors to separate the visual of the rest of the apartment. We lit some candles, got high, and the process was underway.
My favorite part of giving energy paintings is the conversation that happens after the painting, after the reading, after the vulnerability. We went down several philosophical paths, some of which I could actually feel my brain putting a stop to, saying, “whoah dude, chill out, this thought is not something we can grasp right now, put a pin in it.” I walked them to their car and left on a thought which was approached while discussing how the most intelligent people are tortured by it.
My head immediately jumped back to an energy painting I gave to someone who at the time was a stranger, and is now one of my dearest friends. When I was giving the reading, the string of words, “You are suffering from the burden of intelligence,” asked to be expressed to this person. It was a thought I’d never said, or thought about, or been exposed to. It was just what they needed to hear. I hadn’t really thought about this concept again until last night when it was jogged.
I think in the way that it communicates here, intelligence is not being measured in IQ, but in seeing. To see the world and the infinity of possibilities of thought and action, to see and feel the world without the shroud and comfort of ignorance, to exist authentically and boldly in any capacity in a world that does not value or understand sight, is an act of high intelligence. And it is a burden. I surround myself with intelligent people, because I think it is the only thing that can lighten the load. So many of my closest friends are feeling the burden of intelligence right now. Maybe because there seems to be such an overwhelming lack of it in the forces that govern us. But we keep our eyes open still, and I think that’s something.