i sometimes envy people who choose to do what they do, whatever it is. i didn't choose to be an artist. i was always like this.
i'm growing a lot of ideas right now. they're coming at me explosively, like shrapnel. sometimes a long walk will smooth things out but for the most part they unfurl inside me as i think on them. i should be a hermit for the next few weeks, just so i can write it all out -- but no such luck. the sun is out, finally, and the beach is calling me like a long lost friend. boxing conditioning class is mandatory. there are too many places to hang out all over the place, especially in my own neighborhood.
the art in me is everything that i am, poured into whatever it is that i'm doing at the moment. what i'm doing never feels like work. it is spontaneous, effortless and freeing. i follow my strongest curiousity and let it take me everywhere. i take copious notes. i daydream. i collaborate. and all of a sudden, everything takes shape as if it were there all along. and then i go and make something else.
you know what's work? practicing is work. it won't be work when i get good at it but for the moment, i feel like sisyphus whenever i play the piano. or the guitar. *sigh* it's not a good feeling.
no one explained this process to me. i refined it on these mean streets, by trial and error, by hell and high water, and by fire. i began to walk down this road when i realized that because so much art in new york city (and the rest of the world) didn't include me, i would have to make my own. and then all of that grew into something else.
the idea of going out into the world to "discover" any of what i'm creating sounds exhausting. it has always been much easier to know myself well enough to delve into my inner life for inspiration. i am grateful to God that i loved myself enough to value what i found and hold it sacred long enough to develop it and grow it into whatever it's supposed to be.
i wonder what's coming out of me next.
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