Without fail, I think most artists go through periods of inactivity, dreary guilt-laden days on end where no inspiration and no will to touch paint to canvas rule our days. Sure, I can fill those awful days with shopping and eating but then where does that get me? I have no fresh inventory for shows, I’m irritable, there’s no smell of fresh paint, no excitement. The process of discovery that creating a scene on canvas generates is what keeps me alive! And as a lifelong excitement junkie, art is here at just the right time of my life when I should be settling down. Once upon a time, I dreaded seeing the door unopened. Now I just want it closed so I can cloister inside where I want to be. Maybe I wanted to be here all along.
The empty canvas is a dreadful sight for me. I have too much brewing in my head, the excited teal, the stern black, the sassy bright red. These colors swirl around subject matter waiting to attach to a form, preferably something pleasing to my eye at least. And just maybe that’s where the door slams shut. The pleasantness that floats so easily around in my mind’s eye. Is that the wall I need to scale? Do I need to do art that is angry or controversial? Is the public eye judging me? Does the public eye need more challenge than I provide? Am I going to finish my painting? Am I going to even start it? Funny how these thoughts invade so easily and turn me against my own creative urges. Or is it the creative urges that are making me panic. Bringing truth to art is a high wire act for me. Art as therapy for the dysfunctional soul is apparently not something everyone experiences. However, that is certainly my personal experience. Life has brought lessons galore and now I have time to nurture my love. But why is it so hard at times? Might just be spring fever.
More on that art therapy thing later….
