Time spent in my art studio has been productive the last few days. It has been nice exploring acrylics again, indulging myself in straight out -of-the -tube colours. For some reason, now does not seem the time to be timid or subtle.
Earlier as I sat in my studio, amidst the array of paints and brushes strewn around, wondering what to create next, I reflected on what I want my art to say for the future – a future that, at my age, that feels no different from the present moment. Uncertain.
I didn’t seriously expect an answer. But I kept repeating a few familiar questions. Is there a new message I want to convey? Do I want to bring a little beauty to my small world? Do I want to protest against recent events that have assaulted my sense of right and wrong?
And then it struck me – something about being in the studio, with the materials all laid out, the lighting just right, the smell of coffee, and the music playing. I don’t have to wait for inspiration to strike in order to just begin at the beginning. Just picking up that pencil gets the momentum going. The work builds on itself. Why did it take me so long to re-learn that?