I think the problem here is that I haven't made time to work regularly, so I have to psychologically start from scratch. I'm feeling sort of wiggy about blogging, too. I'm just not in a good rhythm and it's not fitting in between real life stuff. Shit Hesse's calling profane at this point in The Glass Bead Game. And if I hadn't read in the intro that the protagonist is going to kick that crap in the teeth later, I'd probably be throwing the book across the room.
I'm in a funk about art as a privileged activity. I don't want to buy the bullshit that art is somehow separate from real life, that I can't be regular human creature with a spouse and a child and a bills-paying, community-building job and be a creator of beautiful things. The flipside is my feeling sulky because I don't have time for the sublime because of the mundane. Time = Luxury. And find me a working mother with enough time.
Being me in this mental atmosphere and trying to navigate a world of other very complicated human beings is stretching my brain to its limits. I probably need to lock myself in a room with my journal for a few
There's no logical neat ending here. I could go flippant & ask for donations for a maid? Or I dig back into Blake and find something about these contraries meeting in some alchemic way? Faeries sing and my mothering makes me a better artist and my creativity makes me a happy worker but in reality it's all feeling very messy and real and non-poetic. It's cognitive dissonance to switch from analyzing line and shape to screaming for five blessed minutes alone to poop without a four-year-old audience.