I am still feeling my way through a fog of disbelief in many ways, but at the same time, little pieces of my art life are beginning to assert themselves from the periphery of my mind. It’s comforting to pick up a paint brush and imagine making some kind of art. At this point it doesn’t matter what kind, what medium, or even how good it is. But I know it’s important just to pick up somewhere and begin. In my many years of being an artist, I know from experience that art is a healing thing. All I have to do is start.
All artists get into a slump once in a while and then it becomes difficult to get back into familiar habits of working. Especially when life gets in the way, right? So right now, I’m making a conscious effort to get the flow going again. As a result of creating a small piece of art work every day, I’m beginning to notice that I look forward to doing art more and more, and even hoping for a time when I dream paintings again. I’ve dreamed entire paintings in the past, and then when I wake up, I hurry to try my best to reproduce what I saw in my dream. It hasn’t happened for a very long time. It began happening when I was painting all the time — meaning, going into my space and staying there for the most part of the day. It was not unusual for me to skip eating, because food just didn’t enter my mind. It’s kind of tripping to have paintings, both real and imagined, constantly running through your brain. Will I get there again? One can only hope. With all the unsettling things going on in the world, added to trying to allow my grief process space to run its natural course, that would truly be a blessing.
The summer temperatures are closing us in, and the house is silent during the day. I’ve surrounded myself with music most days, with minimal intrusion of world events. This is my therapy, a lifeline, a time to be open to new ways of seeing.