But I’m proud of the show. It—this—is both my baby, a show that’s been in my head for years, and the gallery I’ve been at the past five years’ swan song.
I produced work at a desperate pace and it wasn’t until the last minute that things started to come together. I’m sad, but proud. Excited. Terrified. Nervous. Struggling to sleep. Proud of what I’ve achieved. Worried I won’t be able to get anywhere else to work. Worried about money.
Needing to push as hard as I can this final month before I lose said studio.