And so at that time my life was dominated by a feeling of extraordinary impatience. Nothing that I did pleased me or seemed worth doing; furthermore, I was unable to imagine anything that could please me, or that could occupy me in any lasting manner. I was constantly going in and out of my studio on any sort of futile pretext—pretexts which I invented for myself with the sole object of not remaining there: to buy cigarettes I didn’t need, to have a cup of coffee I didn’t want, to acquire a newspaper that didn’t interest me, to visit an exhibition of pictures about which I hadn’t the slightest curiosity, and so on.
The sender of this entry into the Classics and Coffee Club writes: “Not exactly bored, but contemplating boredom in my Parisian apartment.”
Even though the figure on the cover of Boredom has always reminded us of a young Bob Dylan, it is in fact the Austrian artist Arnulf Rainer, standing in front of one his his “Empty” or “Nada” paintings.