Did ya miss me? Then you’d betta kiss me! I’ve been taking a break. I decided to let my creative juices stew like a good cassoulet or in honor of our garden and the summer, pickles in a sweet and sour umami brine. Creativity is like that. You just never know when a Rush is going to happen and you have to recognize the flow and go with it when it’s time.
I may also have been in a funk but then that too is part of the creative process or at least for me it is even though I used to feel guilty about stepping back and away, maybe even ignoring the “it” which was lying just over there, under a pile of papers or a canvas or a coffee cup.
Recently it came to me that this old isolation thingy we (or at least those with functioning brains) are experiencing is giving us the opportunity to live in a different way. Oh sure, sure, sure, not all of us have the luxury to take a masked step back and not only smell the roses but actually realize that they’re there. Admittedly I can only speak from my own experience as an artist that though i’m forced to stay around the old Homestead the distractions may be fewer but the ebb and flow will really control what happens… as long as I listen/breathe/feel for it, which isn’t always easy. Guilt can fuck you up…as can overthinking stuff.
This awareness made itself especially known yesterday when I was “zooming” with my fellow progressives and we were asked to create a sign regarding school closures. That’s a big issue since my daughter teaches and my grandson will be attending second grade wherever. While normally I am an abundant and clever sign genius, I just couldn’t hack it then.
My writing was barely legible – and forget about a picture. I couldn’t get my head wrapped around the project for the life of me. After which my Mac’s mute button got stuck so I couldn’t voice my opinion. “The cosmos is telling me to keep chillin.” I spoke inwardly, and I, in my infinite agreement of the absurd, signed off, went to the fridge for ice water, then to the thermostat to nudge it to 71 degrees, put on shorts, then lay on my esthetically and physically cool concrete epoxied floor to close my eyes and meditate, until my lab mocha came over to lick my face ten minutes later.
I knew something was coming, not the dog but the urge to let my imagination out to play, in that a-musing way it can, when it sorta sneaks up and taps me on the shoulder then scurries away, all prankster-like. Only this time it was more of a lurk, then pounce, like a kitten, but thankfully it wasn’t or I’d have sneezed and maybe even wheezed since that’s what I do around cats and their damned dander. And funny enough just the mere mention of sneezing right now has brought on multiple ah choos which makes me wonder if cats aren’t the issue at all, but then as is my usual, I segue, wending my way through the maze of my imagination.
Art is truly a bizarre experience for me, anyway, the making of it, that is. I don’t ever know where it will lead me which used to mess me up because my mother’s voice would rise up inside of me and devil’s advocate my sensibilities up the wahzoo, thus cramping my whatyamacallit “style”. But no longer, as I ultimately told that voice to “go have a dinner party or go shopping at Saks” as my mother was wont to do and the voice finally shut the fuck up and I rapidly got to work on whatever I was so inclined, when I was, or am, inclined.
Enjoyment. Giggles. Tears. Deep connection…to the great Oogly Moogly…And perhaps more. when I’ve completed a piece of writing or visual art or performance, though not so much of the latter since comedy, dance and acting are not in my current repertoire and I’m not certain to leap back into that again…though at times tempted. I briefly ventured, pre-virus, into the improv arena only to discover my mo-jo didn’t want it no mo.
Alas here I am, once again tap tapping on the keyboard to the rhythm of words popping off in my synaptic brain, making some sort of sense of the inner me to my outer world. I can’t promise what’ll happen tomorrow, but for now I’d like a kiss. Pucker up and blow me one.