tectonic living

My mom used to sing this little song that goes like this:"i love myself, I think I'm grand...i go to the movies and I hold my hand...i put my arm around my waist, and when i'm fresh i slap my face." the tectonic plates continue shifting, and a tsunami of thoughts, dreams, feelings and backwash are hitting the beach...along with some wonderful treasures that were buried deep beneath the silt. it has been a year of crumbling, destruction, and rebuilding...or leaving the parts in a heap that belonged there in the first place. the process became derailed for a while, as i got distracted by some glittery things dangling from the tree, but about a week ago, i began re-reading Ordinary Sparkling Moments (for the billionth time) and although i've read it before, this time certain parts lept at me like neon. i hope Swirly doesn't sue me if i quote some of them here, throughout, but they are just too good, and too True not to. (and btw, you may follow along in your own copy. go now and buy it. go ahead - i'll wait). ok. so, last year, my "to do" list included getting Very Serious about my art (again)...getting out there and promoting my work...getting into galleries not in syracuse...and most daunting - making The Most Important Piece. not too shabby of a list, not difficult for a constant communicator like me to self-promote, kick in doors, generally wear down by annoyance...tenacious as a terrier, that's me. but it was the Most Important Piece that stopped the train on the tracks. it effectively cut off the flow of intuition and magic, as i strove to create a dark & moody serious piece of art that would bring people to their knees and change the world...just by glancing at it. now, that is asking a lot of art when the flow and magic has been staunched. i have stood in front of a piece and wept openly and forked over mortgage money because i was so incredibly moved (see my livingroom). there are pieces that i wasn't able to purchase in this lifetime, but remain in my very fiber ... that's how much of the artist's soul was in the piece. and that is what i set as my goal. and, peoples, it is entirely attainable. and it is well within the realm of my skills. BUT - the soul and the flow and the magic was blocked by....what? and that's where our story begins. and here is where i quote: ...I am beginning to find my way back to a part of myself i thought might be lost forever...it is as if this part of myself has been waiting quietly and patiently for me to notice her again, believe in her and return to her. Now that she knows i'm aware of her she is glowing brightly, yet still completely patient as i make my way towards her through the forest. i am finding myself once again. she is waiting with open arms." and i'm still in the trees a bit, but that sheer joy and stay-up-all-night exploding with sparks and wonderment...that, peoples, that is beginning to return as i take some deep LifeBreaths and remember that my Inspiration comes from a different Source than say gailwhonevercalls or lynnbelly or lisalisa or swirly or angelfriend or...fill in the blank. and by "Source" i mean, each of us makes art for different reasons and from a different starting point and in a different Way and for different outcomes. these are seemingly superficial statements, but go beneath for a moment. ask any artist why they make art, and at some point they will say "because i have to." Be they a commercial artist, a sparetime artist, whatever...they are artists all equal. because to not make art - to ignore the incredible urge and inspirational spark that hits, would be like the tide trying to resist the moon. at some point you Have To Make Art or you will become so uncomfortable, and so miserable that the rest of the shiny beautiful wonderful things that come your way will seem lifeless. i compare it to quitting smoking - now, that's all you think about when you're trying to quit...smoke smoke smoke. so i belabor here, but it's only because it's difficult to put my thought into meaningful enough words and if i use all the words i know, then maybe the right ones will line up. nu? so the past year i became Serious about my artWork. and would carve out every spare moment to stand at my worktable with the big daylight lighting above and all of nature looking back in the wall of windows. and created...nothing. nothing. an entire year. well, a few things, but they were nothing that came from the soul...just a little something. and the more i tried, the harder it got, as the frustration built and the practicing of "failure" became more learned. it got to the point where i would avert my eyes as i walked into my studio to get to my computer...i would not look to the left to see all the lucious rusty stuff waiting on shelves or the colors of Golden acrylics lined up silently. it was a dismal reminder of how un-artful i had become. so i started reading books about how to be a better artist...how to unlock and unleash your creativity...and one book said Make Art Everyday and another said Wait For The Moment of Ecstatic Inspiration and another said ...you get the picture. and none of them really felt right in my skin. so the other day, in a heap of wet tears and frustration and being absolutely beyond pissed off at the Universe for not catching me when i lept off that cliff to find my bliss, in this terrifying rage, i set out into the woods to take a walk and discuss with the Universe why i was so disappointed in it and how maybe i had placed my trust in the wrong thing and maybe would become jewish again, cause at least you know where you stand with the torah. and a funny thing happened as the squirrels pelted me with walnuts like the playful urbanbastardmonkeys that they are and i, already pissed off, added them to the list of things that will not be allowed in My World when i create it. a funny thing happened...i realized that i hadn't walked my woods in a very long time. i had taken diva on her prescribed morning poo, but i had not carved out time for myself to walk through the woods, alone, smelling the scent of newly budding branches and soft perfume of forest flowers and warm leaves and had not taken time to feel the scratchy bumpy bark from the monkey tree. quite simply: i. was. empty. i had not refueled my creative self in a year. i was so caught up in the business of art - the seriousness of the task at hand - that i had forgotten why i make art...why i personally make art. and my personal Source. and it made for a miserable summer for myself, and increasingly, those around me. my soft edges gone...my thoughtfulness seemed obligatory. i asked myself...what do i bring to the table? what have i come here to express? what do my hands want to touch? and as i return to center, once again, there are a thousand things i've left out...some too personal to put out in the window of the web...some still finding their way through the forest to the bright glowing light - that is mySelf...waiting for me. i thank you, dearest hearts, for making your way through this ramble...i hope i came close to expressing the unexpressable, or at least you got a glimmer of what i meant. if so, clue me in, because i'm not so sure. and i truly think that there is a Unique Expression inside each and every one of us and that if we're quiet, and respectful, and we don't try to chase it, then it will come purring up into our laps and we will let that out in ways that will astound us. now i'm off to ramble through some authenticity.