Over the summer I've learned a lot about myself as an artist. Could have been the dozens of hours I spent making water angels in the lake... Several days I did little else; I truly realize the luxury of idle time, thought and the insight it often allows. We chose to spend our free time two hours from home in a cabin, minimal packing and travel time (and expense), no sights to see or relatives to visit (except the in-laws and Jim's mother is a great cook:). That's one of my ideal vacations, especially since this auto-immune disease swiped its portion of energy. But I've never liked to need a vacation to recuperate from a trip.
I have been making art for just over four years and I still hesitate to call myself an artist. Maybe it's a relic from my writing days. Tell people your a writer and the first question they often ask is, "oh, what have you published?" Hence the differentiation between writer and author. I have written all my life, published commercial and non-fiction, I also have the equivalent of an MFA in fiction writing. But since I haven't published I'm, well, a writer. I'm not even sure there is an equivalent in the art realm, perhaps a creative, a painter, a dabbler? I have sold some of my work but that isn't the point. The point is, it doesn't really matter.
Which leads me to another realization. I've always posted a certain type of work. Who is interested in my process and the little, often quick, sketchy fun pieces that are stacking up on my (storage) table. Like these four panels I did not long ago on the back of an old cut up board book - playful and light. I have received such lovely, fun, encouraging, warm and funny comments on whatever I post so I doubt this will be any different.
Speaking of sharing, nothing is better than knowing I'm not alone when it comes to tripping over knee-deep piles of stuff, guilt about undone chores, misplaced lists and sense of time travel, as in skipping over days and weeks. I've read so many posts about where has the time gone and the frustration of being away from the studio for too long at a time. There is much to be said from knowing we are traveling in the same boat.
Traveling. Of course we are all on a journey; I do wish that my creative dreams were a bit better defined. I wonder if I resist clarifying so that I won't have to take myself, my art more seriously? So I won't know if I don't accomplish spoken-out-loud goals? I'm not talking about the 6-month, two-year, five-year plan of the career sort. But, a lot of ideas do cross my mind like the big fluffy clouds in the endless, crisp blue sky and the space between my backfloating body and the heavens above. I want to reach the end of my journey knowing that I've lived as rich and creative life as possible, one overflowing with joys and just as few regrets. What about you?