I finally said Hi! to Mirka on my last day at swan st, she asked if I was a painter I said yes (pffffft!) and if I had a studio at home I said no etc. She said*** Tres Bein*** (awsome! hilary!) she said a mistake is a wonderful thing, when you accidently slide the brush on canvas ( I imagined her turning to pick up a cup o tea or vino in a cluttered pit o painting, but I thinking mashing with a picture of Margaret Olley I have seen, also I miss the Margaret Prestons at NGA) this is a wonderful thing, she said turner had said it. (As romantic as this sounds, its still good, I want all my paintings to be side ways, like I wasn't there looking at it, its not personal vision, but it is, but just not even near the height of passion or crisis, its way after when you can retell the story as a gag, entertaining missery, dry as, its slippery, its not poetic accident or giving away self determination to chance, but just off centre, not artist as silo, its a nod to self awareness and the best of Po-Mo and Modernisssyism) I was a bit weird from having not eaten and had my mind on the mission of moving, I wanted it to go better i wanted to become her assistant come companion, but she sort of fobbed me off in the end and I'd run outta converssion puff, because she doesn't need it! And this is very cool, she doesn't need younger fans/faux friends to mix her tints or hand her shit and pump her up on praise, fuck that gas, she's just damn fine with her life and not needy, It is I who is theee idiot. I've been looking at her lop sided mural in the cafe all this time imagining her to want to swaddle into her life any proteeejjjaa she could find, but she is not so doey, nor run out of all the things to paint or do. You can be older but not softy. This is a good old lesson. I wanna bee woman ****comme ca****.