I am so fickle when it comes to this blog – some days, like this day, I want to release it. But then, I don’t because there are the other days when I need it. It is a space for me to say what I don’t say, to say what I don’t paint, to say what I can’t dismiss. That sounds a bit egotistical, any form of artistic expression could “seem” that way (and some of it is – the “some” being the ones who do things for attention and are propelled solely by monetary gain- but mostly art is something inside that needs to find a space outside and it is, actually, the opposite of ego – it’s spiritual and humble. Anyway, on this day in the middle of the week in the middle of summer I am asking myself questions, questions about my art. These questions could apply to any internal struggle, but for me, it’s about art. I am thinking that writing is stealing time I should be painting. The canvases, boards, and ideas are stacked in my studio – neglected and threatening. I know that these blog entries seem somewhat trite and simple but they aren’t for me – they rattle around in my head and take up time and space and when they finally do materialize in the form of “sketches” I then reread and question how honest I have been and push myself to reveal more – it gets complicated and it is a drain sometimes instead of the Zen like place I intended it to be – a place where only positive words appeared and optimism proliferated. Well, that kind of went by the wayside, as they say, and life nudged me into writing crusty words like these. As in literature, there always exists external and internal conflicts to keep things interesting and this blog has found its way on the firing range of my life – in the middle of a skirmish.As I said, I am not driven by ego nor do I have an external motive – I just have always done art and it is something I must do – I know you can identify with this – this “thing” inside that you must do. For some, it may be travel or sorting and organizing or it may be cooking or devoting yourself to a cause, but “it” is there in all of us and it can create a struggle because the “noise” or should I say, the “music”, never stops.
In the meantime, and in an attempt to go back to the beginning, I am posting a picture that I took this morning that symbolizes the exact reason I wrote the first word on May 4 of 2008. I looked out of my window and amongst the tropical sized weeds and the endless rains , I saw beauty and that is why , 4 years ago, I came to this computer and recorded those feelings – this blog kept me in a nearly constant state of appreciation of the little things that are, indeed, the beautiful things.
“It is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones after all”
Laura Ingalls Wilder