Day 0370

Did my dutiful morning commute across a misty, bitterly cold Paris to my friend's apartment for another portrait session. Appalling work, frustrating, unprofessional. Redeemed myself after lunch with another drawing in the café, which was at least flattering if not a likeness. I seem to be stubbornly, resolutely incapable of learning or progressing, and yet here I am willing myself on every day. It is evidently a form of masochism. Loafed the afternoon away in cafés then worked away in my little apartment on my sister's portrait, listening to Dostoyefsky again.

The end isn't the goal, it is the process that counts.

It's life that matters, nothing but life — the process of discovering, the everlasting and perpetual process, not the discovery itself, at all.Fyodor Dostyoefsky - The Idiot