I was looking at Chirtie's art on her blog again tonight. It brings a rush of feelings -- awe at her creativity that she shares so generously; curiosity to read about and view the techniques she explores; hunger to pick up my paintbrush; and . . . sadness.
Yes, I am sad. I am not painting. I haven't touched a canvas in ??4 years. I yearn to paint again -- to do any art. But whenever I get the creative urge, a big, huge wall impedes me. It is a wall of hopelessness. The wall is made of stones of excessive overwork.
This is what happens. An idea for a cool project pops into my head. Or maybe I see some new art material and think that I would like to try using it. And then, immediately, the voice in my head speaks to me in dire tones and says, "There is no point in even starting. You have no time to paint. Other projects you have started *years ago* are sitting around the house, unfinished, gathering dust. You can't do everything. You can't do art."
I should know all about this creativity-destroying nasty anti-art voice, because I am also a writer, and I have worked very hard to nurture my writerly self and protect it from the voice of doubt. And I *am* writing. (That god for that!)
But I also am caught in a loop of way too much work, and it takes a great amount of effort to even carve a little space in it to have a life. And that little space does not seem big enough for my artist's soul. I don't want a bite -- I want a meal. So if I can't have the meal, I won't even take a bite.
How's that for a sad, sad, circle?
