Lately, every time I click on the update screen I get a slight constriction in my chest. How can I bend this format to my needs at the moment? The hestation I feel is what led to me posting two memes yesterday: when in doubt, flirt.
For those who don’t know, my life is one of great topsy turvy ness these days. I’ve been lucky enough to have some things happen that are making me re-evaluate my personal life. I’m trying to practiice honesty and adventurousness. I know that there is some work that will need to come out of this. It’s been a lot of taking in, and very little putting it out. And yet here it is weeks of me making the same feeble announcements. And I think now I’m actually going to request that you not comment on this post, mostly because I’m suspicious of my own comment cravings here. A little too much asking and not giving. At least another species of it.
Lately I’ve been buying art books: books of other peoples’ sketchbooks, catalogs of old master drawing auctions, photobooks of people having sex and an atlas of human anatomy. I tote around three different blank books everywhere I go, along with a case that contains pens and a full compliment of drawing pencils. Some how I think I’m going to make drawing a more integrated part of my daily life. I can’t tell if it’s working or not. I can see my artistic practice on the other side of an oh so thin glass wall, I can almost touch it, but not.
A quick flash of the studio in my head: I need to start throwinfg some stuff together again – things are feeling too premeditated, too worked out – too plodding. I don’t want to return to the piles of crap everywhere that I used to have, but when I start feeling like this, this constricted, it’s usually a sign that there is something pressing within me and that only my unconciousness can manifest it.
Typing that makes me realize that I have not been giving my work process its due, not honoring it as the best part of myself. It’s time to work towards improvement on that front.
Oh yeah, that’s what this forum can be for.