Tuesday, August 06, 2013

The past decade


Alright. So I've become one of those people.

You know. The ones who promise and don't deliver.

I'd like to say I haven't delivered yet, but you have all been waiting so patiently, you've forgotten you were waiting, haven't you?

It keeps bouncing in my head like a missed table tennis ball, hollow and clacking within my skull: "I stopped reading your blog," said a friend and collector over lunch a few years ago, "because you stopped posting art."

I know, I know.

So what have I given up art to do? When am I coming back? Will I paint several solstice paintings to make up for lost time? Will I ever finish my post about the commissioned family tree?

I don't know, I don't know.

There's a part of me that can't start where I left off in 2008. I've tried, and now that my internships are done and I have time to paint again, I'm at a loss to remember why I bothered to paint in the first place. I'm struggling to find that quiet place in me that allowed me to sketch and draw and paint and look for hours. After a few years of hectic internships that included making up a lost year of hours due to an agency's mistake, I'm just now getting used to a slower pace.

Time has stretched before me on many days this summer that, years ago, I would've spent in conversation with my muses. Now, I want only to nap on the sofa, periodically awakening to enjoy the slow motion frolicking of sunlight across the living room.

I think that's good enough for now. I want to be driven by appreciation and gratitude, not guilt and shame; being productive because I believe the world is going to hell in a handbasket and feeling unworthy of loving life's moments because others can't doesn't work for me anymore.

This has been a tough decade. I lost a love and it broke my heart. I lost a friend and it broke my soul. I lost everything and it broke my world.

Making art has been a way of putting myself back together. Engaging in psychotherapy has helped me to put the right pieces back and discard what never belonged to me.

As I fall into place a decade later, I find myself in the best time of my life. I can still love. My friend returned. And I like this brave, new world much, much better.

I don't know when I'll make and post new art again. Heck, I don't even know what kind of art I'll be making. I thought doing psychotherapy would change how I painted, or the subjects--but I didn't expect it to influence my choice of medium or, more profoundly, my potential choice of a new discipline.

My life has always been, and will always be, multi- and inter-disciplinary--so nothing is ever wasted. What looks like wandering is actually the process of equipping my imagination with the means to express my creativity.

I'm gearing up to do better what I'm made to do: create emotional experiences.

I realize, I realize.

Invite Beauty,

I.