Sunday, March 2, 2014

thoughts on a cold night

why is it that when I think I'm doing something, and return to it later and realize that it contains very little, if any, of the essence I hoped to convey? Whenever I think I'm doing something rather than actually doing the thing I'm doing, I'm doing the exact opposite of what it is I want to do. 

I find I limit my own potential by ascribing value to every move I make. Not just value, judgment. However, when the flow continues and those thoughts trail away into timelessness, connections are made out of time, out of my own ego. With all that we've recently been talking about here and over the phone, I surprise myself by realizing how little I actually know.

By the way: Happy anniversary!

For example, I have always been interested in the metaphor of Above and Below:
microcosm of one's everyday life and
the relationship we have with the illusory nature of time
thoughts forming consciousness
impressions of memory on one's body
chance and serendipity

...but when I look at my work and re-read any of the seemingly endless revisions of my artist statement, I don't find that vigor, the investigation, the right words, the focus. When I see myself through my work, I can only piece it together over very long periods of time. I don't see an overarching theme - so much seems scattered and circuitous. Maybe that is the theme...

There are so many things I still want to do; I'm anxious that all I'll ever be in this lifetime is a really good mother and a very supportive partner. I still have so many paintings to paint.
It seems like I allow the vigor to continue to get trumped by the realities of having a family and not making a lot of money through my day job. 

Or is this just some pity party I'm having for myself?

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