Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Stealing Time

Quick moments are all I can ever manage; I'm always just skimming the surface creatively. Both with blogging and the long-term book project, there are just tiny snips of life- shreds- when I can flash on something but never following through. This is not the way I work- I've always been an art binger. I'd stay up for days during college working in hyper-focus on one project. I tend to actually sleep now, but to dig in I have to ship off the munchkin for the weekend to the grandies', worn the husband DO NOT DISTURB or stabbiness shall be thy reward, and get into the zone for a couple or three days.

I cannot multitask. I can flit and flutter and- yes- tweet. But I never accomplish anything that way.

Working around a schedule, working around the needs of a shop, a staff, a home, a mate, and a child is the hardest thing I've ever done. Trying to make it fit is exhausting me. It might be time to stop forcing a swirling whirligig of a mind into a square hole, and get a good tunnel-vision binge on. After a recharge at the good green battery of earth that is Seneca Rock, I'll schedule some Ivory Tower days.

I can't help thinking about gender when I muse about this art/mundane life rift. Do wives make less than prolific artists? Forgive me- I know we all live in perfect egalitarian marriages now, but come on- isn't there a legacy behind me, telling me this conflict exists? Am I too much dwelling on the lovely, late Louise, one of my pantheon of womanartists, who drew herself literally into houses?


O Saint Louise Bourgeois, help me balance the both. I want a nest, and my tiny bird nestled into my hip, and I want to create meaningful, beautiful, grandiose things.

[image jacked from arts journal]

1 comment:

  1. I can relate to the time issue, although now that time has slowed down some, I'm just ridiculously unmotivated. Did the past semester drain me of all creativity? I'm dragging myself to the page to read and write. Well, it's not that bad. I'm dramatic. I make problems where there are none.

    The more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that all the hats we wear (in your case, artist, mother, wife, manager, etc.) come from the same place. They are related. So when I am teaching, I am writing. When I am editing I am a student. These things all feed one another and my work would suffer were I to focus too much on just one aspect of my life.

    I miss you my friend.

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