Ushering in a NEW YEAR, to surpass the last

As I mull over the spectacularly lengthy list of tasks I need to complete, I am overwhelmed. This usually leads to an activity not on the list, not particularly important, and not at all productive. I should be attending to my ridiculously messy room, doing one of thousands of loads of laundry to clean clothes I never wear anyway, not just because they've been dirty for months. I wrote myself a brief list of New Year's Resolutions, and I'm counting on the dropping of one big ball in major cities all over to indicate the end of me dropping "the ball" on every project I start but never finish. I am famous for this, though hardly renowned outside of my family for this awful ambitious, not manifesting head of mine. Will this new year be any different from the 22 I ushered in each year before? 

Living with ones' grandparents should be a ticket to spend more time focused on ones' self; time is fleeting and eventually you get old and don't have the energy to do the things you could when you were younger. However, I feel myself slow leaking as I am forced to wait things out. Apply to law school, wait. Work hard, wait to move. Save money? This is a concept I have yet to master- source of anxiety, distress, general unhappiness at times. I get used to at least a dull feeling of gloom that comes from too much work and not enough hours in the work day, so many lists transferred but not shortened, and money made equaling, if not surpassing money spent. Is this adulthood?

I had a wicked stomach flu this weekend that put me out of commision entirely, floored me to the bathroom tile. My head spent the better part of Saturday and Sunday shoved into a porcelain throne and tiny bathroom wastebasket. I couldn't remember feeling lower. And today I returned to work with a new resolve! Dilapidated, though I am, I sluggishly made my way through one of few days I was alloted to "get caught up." It's only a hypothetical concept, however, and the work hardly diminishes, though I work diligently filling a day with tasks, client phone calls, and translation. Are my efforts made in vain? Do I work for myself or solely for others?


Who will answer these questions I posit?

In my distraction, I wander to one of my favorite search engines: yahoo.com and discover an article about a 7-year old who "paints like an old master." He is not driven by any burdensome task of self-discovery. And he is not laboring over a canvas to pay FPL or keep his water running. He's just painting because he likes it. He doesn't feel guilty when he doesn't paint.

So on top of my generally discontent, half-sick, weary ushering in of yet another ephemeral Tuesday evening, I see this kid who admittedly makes me feel even worse. How do we peel back and experience that simplicity? Is it even possible?

I ask these questions of you, my probably non-existent readers, one of my three followers maybe, and of you, the Universe. Answer them in whatever form you see fit. I am open to signs; I will try to keep my eyes open and my senses alert for the answers to seek me as I have asked them of You.

These are two paintings by the 7-year old prodigy, Kieron Williamson:

 

Ushering in a year to surpass the last, I wish you well. And I wish you inspiration not just to write about it, but to be about it. I am closing my laptop to take my very own advice...

My moment/ your moment too.

I felt a moment of inspiration today- Which is remarkable, though it does not seem to be.  I'm holding on to that moment- squeezing it tightly, smothering it like I wish I could do to some people, without being suffocating.  I remembered again how ART warms my South Floridian heart even in the gloomy winter of Long Island.  Though I have yet to really locate the arts & culture scene out on this long, unfriendly island, I still attempt to make the most of my time here.

I am always so focused so much on my next steps I almost trip over the things directly in front of me.  Periodically, I commit to becoming more lucid and aware- sort of how Buddhists do.  But I'm still almost in exactly the same place every time I commit to this again.  And then I become inspired as I did today, hoping maybe this time I will hitch a ride on my fleeting idea- a project that never manifests, a list I transfer without crossing much off, an ideal- hoping it will fly me out of this stuck feeling, awkward phrasing, and raw, unrefined existence.

I used to enjoy this struggle more, but my formerly romantic ideas now only exhaust me.  The mundane squeezes the passion out of me, and instead of gasping for creative air, I pass out, wake up, repeat.  Yet, I am always pleasantly surprised when a poem sneaks up on me.  A painting manifests before I give it any conscious thought.  I sing a song in the shower that I wonder if I composed, or if I had just heard the melody somewhere.  And as ephemeral as that moment is, it is the best moment I've had all day.

Let me share with you my moment today:

I wish I could do graffiti art (though I have never actually tried- other than once on the streets of Vina del Mar, Chile while studying abroad).

I also wish I had been at Art Basel in Miami this last weekend, where these pictures were taken.

I wish a great many things.

Now I'd like to start planning.


Overly ambitious? Overly critical? Overly analytical?

Who will even read my rants, none the less appreciate them? An online blog is a strange concept...

Anyway, hope whoever does stumble upon these raw thoughts can add them to their toolbox, maybe refine them a bit... or let them shape you, even.

I live even for a moment's inspiration in my otherwise wholly uninspired day.

Hope this is your moment.

Still an ARTIST...

Is an Artist one who creates art? One who has creatED art? Or a lifestyle?

I see things differently because of the art education I have received. My aesthetic sense has been heightened, my eyes opened, and my heart expanded. My artistic well is not dry, but stagnant; my artistic palette whet with the experiences of everyday life. I accumulate tools with which to shape my work, to lead me to something meaningful. I love art. I live art.



I painted this one last week, and drew the picture of the sleeping old man last month.