April 12, 2018 6 pm. Heading home

Got to the studio before noon. Went right to canvases. Decided to work in figures, abstracted, wanting to sketch and follow line, particularly charcoal. Sketched the six, small and vertical 36 x 12 pieces that I originally bought as design templates for room screens. But I wasn’t inspired to make screens today.

Cranked the music. It’s interesting to observe where my thoughts go when I have the iPod blasting. Music takes me back to a specific time, a particular situation or even a person. I can feel 29 or 35 or very old and nostalgic. I sing along, I dance a lot. I think of stories, mine and others, many imagined of course, and I wonder where those thoughts come from. I sometimes wonder if I should explore any train of thought. Am I psychic? Perhaps. Even so, the information isn’t mine to act on. I can watch or wait or just move beside it. I have to remember that for each of us, there’s a unique journey. Concerns, worries, they float past me. But we’re aware of each other. A strong “knowing” happens to me when I’m creating.

Sometimes, if I let go and don’t act “too tight”, inspiration fills me up and I follow the impulse to grab this color or that, to use the roller, water down the pigment, mush it up with a brush, take charcoal to it again. None of the thoughts about why I am doing what I am doing are clear or exact. It takes a lot of courage to just dance with it. Today I felt brave, like a rock star.


Thursday, April 26, 2018 5:22 pm

Done for the day, weary, wishing I could come up with the stamina to continue. Not gonna happen.

I almost don’t want to go home yet, though. It takes such an effort to steal this time for myself and I feel greedy, unwilling to drive back to my life as wife, helpmate, taskmaster, confident, mom. I’m not ready to give up my focus, to return to the regular world. Not a soul in my life would understand this. So I sigh, resigned.

As I work, listening to music from the 90’s in particular, I’m reminded of the choices and the direction of my career, my life. The anger is still there, potent. In my studio I feel free, unrestrained, a genius in full control. It’s a fantasy, and yet, I indulge in it. The exhaustion is perhaps a gift now that I think about it. I will walk out of here alive.

The works in progress are filling in, taking form. I continue to work in layers of thinned down acrylic paint, the figures gaining dimensionality, becoming like adolescents: obnoxious, disinterested in what I might have had planned for them, going their own way. This is always a dangerous stage of creation for me. It’s the point where judgement starts to be stronger than open acceptance. I grow impatient, fearful. What ARE these pieces about? How do I keep the momentum up? How do I maintain the fearless space in which they all were birthed?