Cliches are
It has been a long month already. Lot of work and and time and energy went into open studios and opening Branches Gallery and working for the man to pay for these endeavors, and trying to squeeze in a bit of art making or at least thinking of art making.
The other night, after spending a few hours in the studio breaking it down to get it ready to start working in again, tidying up my books, and finishing the last piece in the commissioned "Looking" series that I began working on in the winter, I gave myself a good half hour of just sitting and looking at myself via what I have done. What I have made. I am proud of my work. It is not easy to stay dedicated to it, day in, day out, pouring money and time and energy into it, and for what...? To have some pretty pictures? To prove something to somebody, to myself? Or, to "deal with my issues", give myself play therapy because mommy and daddy invariably disappoint? Maybe to avoid dealing with my issues? Or, perhaps, I'm chasing the Freudian strip, chasing 'fame, money, beautiful lovers'? All these things are true, are motives, I suppose. But,
it is the quiet,
the quiet moments of looking; when it breaks through to seeing and when words become irrelevant and there is a wholeness to the wholeness. The is-ness of the thing, the whole thing, right there, right here, right now, happening. I felt that, then. The other night. Recorded a looking movement moment:
I am what I am. I do what I do. I am an artist.
Tah daaaa!
emoticon
Silly, life.
The other night, after spending a few hours in the studio breaking it down to get it ready to start working in again, tidying up my books, and finishing the last piece in the commissioned "Looking" series that I began working on in the winter, I gave myself a good half hour of just sitting and looking at myself via what I have done. What I have made. I am proud of my work. It is not easy to stay dedicated to it, day in, day out, pouring money and time and energy into it, and for what...? To have some pretty pictures? To prove something to somebody, to myself? Or, to "deal with my issues", give myself play therapy because mommy and daddy invariably disappoint? Maybe to avoid dealing with my issues? Or, perhaps, I'm chasing the Freudian strip, chasing 'fame, money, beautiful lovers'? All these things are true, are motives, I suppose. But,
it is the quiet,
the quiet moments of looking; when it breaks through to seeing and when words become irrelevant and there is a wholeness to the wholeness. The is-ness of the thing, the whole thing, right there, right here, right now, happening. I felt that, then. The other night. Recorded a looking movement moment:
I am what I am. I do what I do. I am an artist.
Tah daaaa!
emoticon
Silly, life.
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