You know, I wanted to make an entry last night but I had no idea what to write about. Writing a blog entry about having writer’s block seems to be a cheat for me and is cheating you. Let’s not do that, let’s wait until I have a grain of sincerity to share and celebrate that.
I’m drawing. For the past handful of nights. Nothing extravagant or involved, little labors of love. As soon as it becomes a chore I flutter onto a new project or revisit an old one. The forced ADHD is a tool that keeps me productive and interested in what I’m doing. The process is very organic and when I’m done, my yield is vast versus having just the one project that is over polished.
When I am or when I’m not doing art, my mind wanders to auxillery concerns. Thinks like advertising, selling, shmoozing, keeping my finger on the pulse of the scene. And when my mind does wander to such concerns, I shoo the bothersome thoughts away. For as long as I can, I will keep it simple. I want to make the art and enjoy the process. Because, really, despite all the yelling and fighting and suffering, deep down, I love art. To my core . . .
I’ve been at this a long old time. I’ve fought it every which way. I’ve coaxed, I’ve yelled, I’ve bitched, I’ve begged, I’ve left, I’ve come back, I’ve shared, I’ve hoarded, I’ve cried, I’ve died, and the list goes on. In the past, I’ve compared my relationship to art as being like a marriage. We have our good times and bad, but she’s always been there for me, good times and bad. Likened to a family member or a loved one, someone you want to keep and protect because they are a part of your life. They augment your happiness.
I intend to meditate on this happiness and to cherish that happiness for as long as I can before impurities encroach. Inevitable concerns about rent, food, survival, life, loves; each brings their complexities and each muddies the waters.
No wrestling demons today. Today is a good day to live.