What is this artistic life? It is in some ways so difficult, nothing is clear cut, almost nothing is known. The question I often ask myself is, am I strong enough to deal with the feeling of utter adriftness (new word!) I often feel as an artist. I’m out there in the wilderness, the outskirts of imagination, alone, making marks on bits of cotton and board.
Will anyone like what I’m doing? Does anyone give a shit? I know these are the wrong questions, even as I ask myself them. What I’m doing is resonding to a need, even an ultimatum, whose clarion call is not coming from what the result will be, but what the journey is, and how much absolute joy I will feel while immersed in the flow of it.
That’s not to say there are not difficult times. Dark times full of feelings of futility and even despair. I’m reminded of that saying by Rumi:
“But listen to me. For one moment quit being sad. Hear blessings dropping their blossoms around you.”
and I’m reminded of the blessings falling like blossoms all around me, that I am finally touching into this magical world, how blessed I feel to be finally up against the difficulty, and the joy.
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