The in between and the little things are difficult to juggle with the grind of everyday life putting pressure on me. All three are very real to me simultaneously and that's why it's so difficult to balance them all well.
Where everyday life is concerned, I am, apparently, too sensitive.
Laughable, I know, but there you have it.
Anyway, yesterday on the metro I actually contemplated letting go of making art for good. I couldn't bear the thought for very long though. However, I did indulge in it long enough to feel parts of my heart and mind cohesion tremble. Twas quite traumatic.
I have not been painting or drawing much these last few months. Sounds like a contradiction, I know, but I never really stop painting even if I'm not actually pushing any paint around. It's hard to explain, but it is the truth. I have found a temporary outlet for my pictorial frustrations, I write (I mean, an actual story). Wild, I know, but something is actually growing from it so I'm content to just go with the flow. Writing assuages some of the frustration, but it is not as satisfying as painting. Nothing is.
And yet, I can't paint.
It hurts to admit it, even in writing.
I know this non-painting time is only temporary, it always is. But the pain of not being able to paint seems to paralyze me with drawing as well. In the mean time, knowing I'll be painting again keeps me going forward. Maybe I expect too much out of painting. Maybe.
I'm still breathing.
Just keep breathing.
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