I've been listening to Jen Lee's "The Iconic Self" CD set...you can read my feelings about "self-help" type of things in my post a few back. This video has been snatched from Jen's blog, (with permission) found here. the truths she gently brings out are SMACK full of stuff. this one in particular made me realize that my recent dry spell in the studio is, in part, coming from trying so hard to meet expectations - of myself, of my mentors, of the gallery - and that somewhere in there, my natural flow was being crippled. this morning, i listened to this short video, then went to let diva out back. it was 4am. and i have this large piece i've been working on (well, was working on months ago - now it just laughs & taunts me) sitting on a table in my studio...the first thing i see when i walk in the door to the studio. and i have some text i want to add to it, but just couldn't bring myself to. it just seemed too jarring & obvious, but it was what the inspiration for the piece (and a series of pieces i had planned) was about...but for some reason i just couldn't work up the enthusiasm. so this morning, with this video getting me thought up, i grabbed some scrap wood and just began to smear every manner of art supply on it...just to force my hands to work...the muscle memory. and then went outside again for a smoke break, and saw the sun was starting to come up, and i tell you the only way to describe the sky is in cliche and words not even sufficient...because it was not a sky that had been created for words, just for the senses. so to say the clouds were like pink cotton candy against a baby blue sky is as ridiculous as saying the Mona Lisa is a painting of a woman using dark tones. and as i took it all in, a thought made it's way past the barbed wire wall that has held my creativity hostage for these months, and bam! it hit me like The Original Thought. and i realized that the text would, indeed, cheapen the intention of the piece...that it was meant to be more of a conversation with the senses, than an emotional outburst of a specific topic...that the interpretation of the piece was meant to be individual, with each viewer bringing his or her history to it. i know what the piece is about for me, but that is secondary to what i feel my expression of art should be. so. there you have it. all dragged out under a cotton candy sky in the wee hours of the morning, with indescribable pain shooting through my knees and ankles. all dragged out by a quick little video made by gentle-voiced BAMF from Brooklyn. do not underestimate this woman...she holds deep truths.