“The pain of creativity is ingrained and never far from the artists consciousness.” – Leonard Everett Fisher
I wrote this quote in my sketchbook in 1992. I was a junior in high school and having problems coming up with ideas in my Studio Art class. Nearly 25 years later, I am having the same problems I had when I was seventeen, hot and still firm.
As I have stayed busy with commissioned work which I am more than grateful for, I have deadlines fast approaching for juried shows I am interested in being a part of. I work well under pressure, but am racking my brains trying to think of what to do this year. I feel like creativity is either something you have or you don’t. It’s like a sense of humor. You can’t bullshit being funny. Everyone sees right through it. I have accepted that I am not a creative person. I have lived in jeans and tank tops since I was a teenager. Same hair. Same makeup. Same style of music. Same food. I try to be creative in the way I dress or the way I do my hair. When I make attempts to change, I look like an idiot. It’s not me. The same is happening in the creative side of my artwork.
I try to set myself up so that I can clear my mind and focus. I love walking and being in nature. I love big sky and clean air. I love the sun and rain and all things outdoors. I never have as much of this as I need.
Last week I had my daughter home for three days with a stomach flu. Made for a very unaccomplished week. Yesterday, our family packed up to spend a day in the mountains. Our picnic and all things needed for a day out were ready to go. As we were getting in the car to leave, my daughters nose started to bleed. No big deal. We went inside to wait for it to stop. We waited, and waited, and waited. It didn’t stop bleeding. As I have gotten older, I have developed a strong phobia to blood pouring from my children, and this wasn’t a normal nose bleed. It was out of a horror movie. I tried to stay away so I wouldn’t pass out but my husband left me to go to the bathroom – convenient. I did everything I could think of, but the faucet of blood pouring from her nose made us soon realize that she would bleed to death if we didn’t do something. We gathered the family and instead of our day in sun with quiet and clean air, we spent the next 4 hours in the ER while my poor daughter was clamped, cleaned and bleeding all over herself and everyone else in a tiny, depressing room. Needless to say, she made it out just fine, but feeling like complete shit, we spent the rest of the day at home.
Glad for the thought that tomorrow is a new I day, I went to bed last night grateful for time I would have today to walk, get some sun, clear my mind and draw. My daughters stomach flu from last week had a different idea. My son has been throwing up since 1 am. He is laying in a lump next to me in a chair moaning and groaning. No serenity here. My poor kids.
The reason I wasted everyone’s time writing about this is because I feel like I would only ever be able to find and be in touch with my creative side if I built a shack somewhere deep in a forest where I lived off the land and had no contact with anyone. Being creative for me is like trying to think of how a song goes when there is another song playing in the background. There’s always a song playing in the background. Hmm… what to do… what to do…