My blog posts often fall along a couple different themes in case you haven’t noticed. Maybe because they just naturally do that, and maybe because being a human I am always trying to find patterns (even when there are none). And on a practical note, I assign categories to each post which allows the reader to click on a category to sort the posts that (at least to me) fit that theme. This one will be an addition to one of the thinner categories (Travel with me). Most of those posts are where I share my experiences, well, traveling, duh. Traveling has been one of my favorite activities since college. It is sacred to me. I feel as if I am able to live additional lives, like cheating, wandering around marketplaces hearing people speak foreign languages and drinking schnapps at 7 AM. I feel a sense of responsibility to share my travel experiences with others as I know that many hardly if ever get to travel. This post is (to me at least) similar to a travel post, but instead of geographic travel, it is a travel inside (my) artistic mind. Buckle up!
For me, art is involuntary. I cannot force it nor can I deny it. It decides when it is time to come out and what that will look like. It is a very emotional experience for me. I am exhausted after working on something. I like to think this is because I am really giving freely and vulnerably. That is of course the only way to live, anything else is just survival. Today I worked on a couple of linoleum cuts that I will test print in a week or two the next time I am in my group studio in Seattle. Everything about art, especially in a shared studio, is outside of my comfort zone. Having anyone see my art is a scary process. I can’t imagine feeling more vulnerable. Even those first kisses all those decades ago were not as frightening. And seeing the process unfold is doubly unsettling. I have talked to many others in that studio. We generally feel the same, as if everyone is better than us and watching us and judging us harshly. We all basically know this isn’t true, but it is hard to not feel it anyway.
When I am painting or carving and to a lesser extent writing or woodworking or even cooking I am flowing. Nothing else exists. My chronic back pain recedes. My self doubts and fears kindly take a break for a few moments. I am nearly always listening to music, yet don’t even notice it as it folds into our shared unified wave function. I had to work in particle physics somehow you know!
I notice that I often have to watch myself so as to not work too fast. My mind can figure out what it wants my hands to do but my hands can only do so much. I talk to myself in a way that accompanies the movements. The danger is I confuse what my sounds and wishes mean for what my hands are actually accomplishing. I am not sure if the involuntary chatter actually affects the function of the rest of my body and hence my art but it feels like it does. It is a romantic thought that I doubt I could ever prove or disprove so I think I will just stick with it 🙂
I can’t plan if I am going to work several days in a row or will need a multi-day (or year!) break. As alluded to, I also have to do it sometimes, early in the morning or in my pajamas (I don’t actually wear pajamas, but figuratively), or while finishing a sandwich.
What is frustrating is both how inhibited I am as well as how I go in such starts and fits. I had really intended to and thought that I would get a lot of studio time over the past few months but have yet to go in. I make too much of it as I do with nearly everything else. No surprise there.
Further, I have a hard time separating my identity and self-worth from the result of my artistic work. I wish this wasn’t so. I want to get better at focusing on the process and not the end result. I guess that is not so different from what I want to accomplish in life in general.
