"We" didn't start out too well today. Before I had my first sip of coffee (aka universal starting fluid), I had some dog accidents to clean up. Both dogs were running for cover: I just lost it and my temper hit the wall (not the dogs, but I might as well have-they were pretty rattled).
Almost instantly, I mentally plodded through all the reasons that life just ain't so great right now -I'll spare you the details which (for me) read like a long laundry list.
So let's just say I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Given my resolution for the year, I'm trying to paste on a smile, but the results of my efforts are rather anemic.
Today is a snow day: a"wintry mix of precipitation" has been ordered for the entire day and that means I'll probably not take the "shoebox on wheels" nor myself out. I'll be working inside the house, which means making painting for the most part.
Since I started dividing my time between the sculpture studio and painting at the house, my whole schedule has been whacked. This has been an uncomfortable time for me anyway (see above), but this way of working has managed to bring about a serious rupture in my schedule. As a matter of fact, most everything seems upside down as a result. I did choose to do this, however, as I felt myself sinking into a rut.
You might remember how very grateful I was when my Dad came home from the hospital and my parents resumed their "normal" schedule. For some, a schedule like theirs might resemble what Hell would be like. Ironclad. What was done yesterday at a certain time will be done today in the same time and manner. I am the proverbial apple that has fallen not very far from the tree. Attempting to buck the system with its rigid order has been tough-to some degree like quitting smoking or dieting. There has also been a sense of being adrift, accompanied by a great deal of insecurity. This has been coupled with a physical failing on my part (the back issue) as well as a continuing look into my own mortality, brought on not only by my failing dogs, but also by increasingly frail parents. The process of change is never easy, as I've heard droned all of my life.
The artwork that I've been making has had a less welcoming look to it. By this, I mean that it has become more foreign to me (and ain't that the point: not to be making objects or images that bring discomfort or pain necessarily, but work that challenges that which has gone before).
I wish that I could more effectively separate the bad from the good-it seems as though I'm already too busy trying to greet the stranger now at my door. Guess that there has been a lot written or at least quoted on this:
"I always doubt my paintings can hold together. I'm trying to get to the point where they carry the sense of doubt that is one of the most engaging things about painting." (Mark Schlesinger)
"Change occurs in direct proportion to dissatisfaction, but dissatisfaction never changes." (Doug Horton)
"As an artist, it is central to be unsatisfied! This isn't greed, though it might be appetite." (Lawrence Calcagno)
Anyhow, this is all yadda yadda yadda to an audience. Somehow it felt better to commit it to "paper", but I'm just not sure of the benefit of reading it (now he tells us), outside of the fact that it draws my readers closer to me (just what you-all wanted).
Another tin head that sorely tried my hands and their toughness-sharp edges everywhere!
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