Creativity flares up, an unwelcome phoenix incinerating my plans. Ideas and verbiage flow like magma, uncontainable, blistering, destructive in this unbidden explosive form. Is it just me, living a structured, demanding life, denying the voices a clear and undeterred path to expression? Do I need more discipline or less? My artistic passions have always run hot or cold, all or nothing. Without consulting me.
I would draw or paint in frenzied enthusiasm for hours, days. Creating the pretty ponies I could not possess on Liese Avenue, Oakland, California. 7:30 a.m. was never my most inspired hour, but for two years that was the appointed allotment for high school art brilliance. Perhaps if a coffee pot had been allowed, and if we'd been able to arrive in jammie pants as today's students do...
Some mornings, inspiration would take hold in that studio with large picture windows and good light. Transformed, I was not just a student, but absorbed in a tactile, visual and spiritual journey, only to feel decapitated be the bell. Abrupt and rude. Reminding me that art, at least in my pragmatic existence was a luxury. It represented fantasy, illusion: a pass time.
I never hurt for tools; never went without paper or pencil, graduating to watercolor and acrylics. Stacks and stacks of dream horses. Occasionally some dogs and other animals.
Then as now creativity came in biblical floods, overwhelming me, blocking time and space. I could not draw fast enough, my mind and fingers frantic to capture the image in my soul. Over and over, page after page. Study, look, feel. Trying unsuccessfully to convey spirit in a single dimension.
Writing follows this same pattern. Yes, I can be disciplined. I can force myself to sit and place my fingers on the keyboard. Given enough time, I will resurrect the hidden muse by trawling the depths. At what cost to my other responsibilities?
Back to the question, do I need more discipline or less? I am not paid to write or create anything for that matter. I clean and serve and support the emotional and physical needs of my family. I love being the domestic goddess. Beauty and creation are fundamental elements in my well being, however. On my own terms I have not been able to harness or willfully ignite the incendiary force of creativity. When I do not control the tide of my days, weeks or months, there is less opportunity to explore my artistic, repressed self.
Do I apply more discipline to myself or discipline to my family? Does the need for discipline at all indicate a lack of talent? Lack of discipline could be a mask for cowardice. Am I afraid to commit too much, take greater risks. Sacrifice all for art?
Too many questions, too many answers. Is this the unstable mind of a truly talented soul or just the meanderings of a wishful dweeb? Deep or shallow? More questions.
I have indulged myself for well over an hour writing, exploring and allowing myself some creative expression in this blog post while my house wallows in chaos, begging an Oprah or Dr. Phil intervention for hoarding. Eloise Dahlquin still lingers at a banquet table with a dead man across from her. Ross and Mindy face imminent professional doom.
I feel better. And ready to fold three loads of laundry.
I would draw or paint in frenzied enthusiasm for hours, days. Creating the pretty ponies I could not possess on Liese Avenue, Oakland, California. 7:30 a.m. was never my most inspired hour, but for two years that was the appointed allotment for high school art brilliance. Perhaps if a coffee pot had been allowed, and if we'd been able to arrive in jammie pants as today's students do...
Some mornings, inspiration would take hold in that studio with large picture windows and good light. Transformed, I was not just a student, but absorbed in a tactile, visual and spiritual journey, only to feel decapitated be the bell. Abrupt and rude. Reminding me that art, at least in my pragmatic existence was a luxury. It represented fantasy, illusion: a pass time.
I never hurt for tools; never went without paper or pencil, graduating to watercolor and acrylics. Stacks and stacks of dream horses. Occasionally some dogs and other animals.
Then as now creativity came in biblical floods, overwhelming me, blocking time and space. I could not draw fast enough, my mind and fingers frantic to capture the image in my soul. Over and over, page after page. Study, look, feel. Trying unsuccessfully to convey spirit in a single dimension.
Writing follows this same pattern. Yes, I can be disciplined. I can force myself to sit and place my fingers on the keyboard. Given enough time, I will resurrect the hidden muse by trawling the depths. At what cost to my other responsibilities?
Back to the question, do I need more discipline or less? I am not paid to write or create anything for that matter. I clean and serve and support the emotional and physical needs of my family. I love being the domestic goddess. Beauty and creation are fundamental elements in my well being, however. On my own terms I have not been able to harness or willfully ignite the incendiary force of creativity. When I do not control the tide of my days, weeks or months, there is less opportunity to explore my artistic, repressed self.
Do I apply more discipline to myself or discipline to my family? Does the need for discipline at all indicate a lack of talent? Lack of discipline could be a mask for cowardice. Am I afraid to commit too much, take greater risks. Sacrifice all for art?
Too many questions, too many answers. Is this the unstable mind of a truly talented soul or just the meanderings of a wishful dweeb? Deep or shallow? More questions.
I have indulged myself for well over an hour writing, exploring and allowing myself some creative expression in this blog post while my house wallows in chaos, begging an Oprah or Dr. Phil intervention for hoarding. Eloise Dahlquin still lingers at a banquet table with a dead man across from her. Ross and Mindy face imminent professional doom.
I feel better. And ready to fold three loads of laundry.
2 comments:
If you feel the drive go with the flow!!!! Do the rest of the stuff when the flood runs dry :).I never felt ignored, neglected or anything as a kid and now while I still love time with you I don't need it the way I did as a kid. So I say, if tsunami of creativity is there RIDE THE WAVE!!!
Tsunami is right! I do feel overwhelmed with stuff to do. Most of it is stuff I LOVE to do. I just want it all. Like wanting to be with you, or Steven, Da/Russ and Mom. Can't be everywhere at once. I want my beautiful home and garden; want to travel and ride horses, write, play with friends; be So much to learn and explore...four unfinished books I'm reading...
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