I'm working on a series of works for a summer gallery- and trying to paint scenes of people swimming in oceans in February is a bit like rolling a cement filled beach ball up a hill. Ebb and flow, I'm told, is inevitable. And so true. Apparently I am not alone- a good friend of mine- amazing artist and designer and business owner, told me that lately she can't seem to even hold a pencil. It somehow helps to know others are struggling too, because misery loves company!
My daughter Markie gave me the book "Big Magic" by Elizabeth Gilbert, for Christmas. I loved it. Elizabeth's words ring true- being a creative has it pitfalls for sure, yet how wonderful and magical when things are in a flow. Painting, even when the pieces end up in a bin, is as important to me as breathing. But when it's not happening it seems as if the whole world has a grey veil over it. Last night I had a dream I was driving a big white van up a hill, but had to stop in the middle of the road because all my paintbrushes had spilled out all over the place. I was outside, in front of the van, picking them up, when I realized that someone, impatiently trying to pass, was actually behind the van pushing, Of course I woke up right then, before getting run over. Telling, this dream.
Anyway, today I am feeling some possibilities, that this period of doubt and self worthlessness is slowly turning the corner. I even see some daffodils emerging out in my yard. I don't know if this section of a painting ( bin bound I'm afraid) is she playing or drowning? Hmmmm.