Late digs have yielded little to no inspiration. That is speaking of art and writing. I am figuring out that I have nearly depleted my inner well. The only remedy I know for that is rest and distraction. As for the art bone that braces my right arm. It is worn. I find it difficult to daydream as well, though the night dreams end and wake me up come 3:30 am. I argue I am lost. Still, I manage to fiddle with colored pencils and tear apart magazines. This evaluating sync between my hands and eyes is deeply marred. Not to mention my outlook. I look a jaded green in the reflection of the microwave oven. It is not just about looking for inspiration to living and breathing between the moments to experience fullness. This low octane drag has got me seeking outside of the studio. Curiosity to the world has always been there, but right now I see it as my personal flotation device in the kiddy pool. Here, the call seems to be begin again. Start somewhere. “Retrain my brain”. Meanwhile a seeming death in the studio ranks calls me to obligation and practicality. Bottom line? The train ain't movin' and I am having a hard time walking away. Fear mentors that my art career is not over. I forget art quilting is its own bent. I do not have to paint constantly for where my hands need to go. Collage takes time to build a cache of papers of note. Doubting has got me focusing to balance this who I am of art with the work to say the least. The books and notes of sketches are there. The philosophy is always being honed through statement. By all means, I can sit down, but for five minutes - -or more and breathe. The world will be there. My family will be there. The work will be there. My loves will be there. I will be there. The only thing I understand right now is to slow down. Hmm. There just might be a strategy to filling the well after all.
As ever, stay hungry and curious.