so… i took the night off tonight, I have spent all day dealing with the crazy bureaucracy at my daughters college and I couldn’t handle the stress anymore so I joined a friend at her belly dancing class. LOL. I used to dance years ago, but I am very rusty but it was fun, girly and no art making angst or kid stress involved!!
Everyone is out right now, it is just me and my art in the house and I am stuck. I cannot work because I feel the white truths building up to escape velocity. I am gagging my work. It seems everyone is talking about serious work on their blogs in the past few days, as opposed to just making stuff to sell or that is fun (and I know all of those things aren’t mutually exclusive, but you know what I mean…). I left this quote from Anne Truitts “daybook” on Sheree’s blog, because it made me think of her dilemma, and now it is stuck in my head, but for a different reason.
Yesterday intuition fell back briefly before instinct and the forces of intuition fought for control of my work. My hand wanted to draw, to run free… For one whole day I entertained the notion, which had been creeping up on me, of turning my back on the live nerve of myself and having fun.
This morning I am sober. I would be a fool to sacrifice joy to fun.
OK – honesty time here, I am afraid. I am afraid that I do not have the courage to say the things my art wants to say right now, I lack the resolve necessary for joy, I feel like this Muriel Rukeyser quote,
What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?
The world would split open.
except of course the only thing in the ruins would be my current life… the rest of the world would no doubt go on oblivious. I feel myself walking up to the edge of the abyss, to the verges of the patterns in question and then I look out into the darkness and I cannot bring myself to take that last step across the line.
I could just ignore the things that I know I should be saying, I could turn my back and make something else entirely, or maybe just stop making things all together would be best. Unlike Truitt I think perhaps fun might be the better course of action, to fill the world with pretty, mindless things that do not speak. In a bitter moment of irony, a colleague who I have never felt understood my work recently wrote a reference for me where he talked about my courage and honesty, funny huh? I find myself looking at work that seems shallow, because I know it is, because I am only dipping my toe in the deep end of the pool.
I find myself struggling beneath the skin of the thing, pressed up against it, how much can be said by glancing off the surface and will that be enough? Can you talk only about the fear of standing on the shore?