This is my current artwork in progress. It will be titled with something to do with seeds. It's a bit of a weighted piece as it bears the burden of the past three days of emotional turbulence. It has been my lifeline as I did my best not to be dragged into drowning by the undertow of too many unresolved or simply difficult-to-endure matters.
I participated in a watercolor fair last weekend and there were lessons learned, both about art and about people. Also about myself, and my own creative journey. I'll write about that in a separate post.
For now I want to ramble a bit. And also maybe try to shift the direction and movements of this blog and website. More posts, less over-production. More presence, less over-thinking.
I haven't been able to write in my journal for more than two weeks. There is something uninspiring about my current notebook, despite its being handmade and expensive. It sounds like an excuse but I have a sizeable stack of filled out journals that proves I do write a lot but that certain notebooks flow better with my hand and my thoughts than others. So maybe I'll write a post on notebooks and see if maybe I'll get a few Leuchtturms in the Santa sack this Christmas.
But there are words crowding at the tip of my pen/fingers. But I've been so restless or depressed or both that I just shut down into various states of useless and unproductive.
And there are also paintings along in the endless halls of my labyrinthine mind but it's taking me time to pull them out of the dreamland and into paper or canvas. I feel broken and weak in many places. I feel like a drained battery. Like a mouse in a cage running on a wheel getting nowhere.
I've had to do a lot of dayjob performance the past two weeks. Heavy emotional labour -- pulling up and maintaining a certain persona in order to fulfil tasks and expectations that are considered appropriate. So maybe that bit has been getting to me as well and adding to the fatigue.
The most difficult part is slipping into that puddle that is actually an ocean in disguise. That pool that mirrors the hungry and hurting spaces in the spirit, a reflection that sees through the everyday bravado. This is not rock bottom. This is a different thing. This is a sideways slide into a limbo when you're not looking. And in that limbo is absence, need, stark loneliness. Scorching heat and numbing cold in a dissonant alternation of invisible punishing blows. There is a sound of silent keening and weeping, suspiciously coming from the same space where you are. A frustrating blindness. It is neither darkness nor light but an infinite grey.
Today I am floating in that limbo, although I am beginning to see gradations in the grey. A few more days perhaps, of floundering, of gasping in this air so thinned of hope. Then I'll be fine. Oh so fine.