explored the possibilities . . . art, life, love . . . in three words
Sunday, March 6, 2011
were absolutely terrified
(Terrific trash heap, don't you think?)
Not long ago I listened to an interview of a famous photographer who was, on occasion, terrified when she went into her darkroom/studio. She was afraid it would be the last time she would create anything.
(Another trash heap, this one created by me)
I, too, am terrified. I'm terrified that I have already created the last thing I'll ever create that worth anything,
(All these collages are old, hidden away on my computer)
and I didn't realize it at the time.
(Because I haven't created anything for a while)
I am not necessarily thinking about anything sellable, just something that will satisfy me. The talent I see on the internet is staggering. Overwhelming. Creativity gone wild. Besides, Target and Home Goods sell perfectly agreeable art at prices that even I could afford (well, maybe not that cheap) so why would anyone buy my art.
(So I'm whining about it now)
And the fact remains, I haven't created anything good enough in months. I am reluctant to go down to the studio: it's too cold down there, it's too dark, it's a mess and I can't find anything I need because it's all packed up and I don't want to unpack because what if I have to move again and then I would have to pack it all up again. Oh, I have every excuse. . . yet I know the real reason. I'm afraid I won't be able to do it any more.
I've been through something like this before, many times even. I know something will happen that will see me through but I also know I need to keep working, making crap until I don't make crap any more. And I can't do that unless I go downstairs. Maybe that rodent of Betsy's and Joe's, whether human or animal, has something to do with my ennui. Perhaps it's time to banish that rodent. (Latest clue in rodent identification and entrapment: a chicken bone on the living room rug.)