I’m uninspired, but it’s something I must do. Art. Any form.
I remember at age 4 or five painting a recognizable kite in the sky, then knowing that this is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
At age 28, I took my first painting classes, and while at Southwestern took jewelry, pottery, graphics, drawing, and anything else they offered. 90 some units of passionate art. That was me. My second time around, I majored in painting. More passionate stuff that led to a number of one person shows. I’m known as a Colorist.
After a long break when my big drawing board went into storage, I’ve done nothing. I’ve thought words not paint. Now G has set me up with a small worktable behind the sofa in the living room. I want to work with watercolor and added layers of pencil and pastels. No realism. Ink gestures for boldness. Lots of white spaces to give drama to the whole. Messy fun stuff.
Creating can be a big struggle for me. Great blank spaces often fill my mind. Not only are my colors fugitive, so is my thinking. Uninspired silences in my head lead to silences in my life. I’ll jackhammer a hole in that silence this week and see if I can let a little light into the darkness.