Restless mind. I keep remembering the woman at Squam last year who spent 2 years setting up a photography business only to find that when she had at last achieved success her fickle wants had changed direction. She asked for guidance. I told her that this is the way it goes. We build our dreams on a solid foundation and then we have new dreams. New dreams that require new time, commitment and service. Or we quit the 40 hour a week job to become freelance and then discover that it is lonely, the hours are impossible, that even in wild success there is still something else we want to do. Maybe that's just how the creative mind works.
This is the result of yesterday's windstorm. Our exquisite 3 year old persimmon tree broken at the trunk, splayed in two directions. It echoes every loss of the last 10 years for me. I am in a tender mood.
A friend and reader this week reminded me that life is not all margaritas and trips to Santa Fe. I want to assure others that I agree. I see the same things you do. My mother was depressed most of the time I was growing up and I saw first hand what a life of constant sorrow and looking back came to. She was being honest; she felt everything too deeply and was in emotional pain. I chose not to live her life, though I have the same tendencies. I chose to see life from a different vantage point and to my surprise I discovered that vigilant cultivation of a hopeful spirit can lift the sadness.
This is another reason I have been in my cave all week. I am preparing packets and hand-outs for 6 classes; 2 at Squam (classes filled) and 4 at Art & Soul in Portland (spaces left in 2 classes). These are just the hand-outs. The packets themselves will fill several postal cartons. It is a time consuming labor of love. And yet as I go about these tasks my paints and brushes are calling to me as never before.
I declined one teaching invitation this week and as soon as I screw up my courage I will decline a second. I am making time to paint. I am excited. Maybe I'll take a class. Take my turn to be pampered, inspired and thrilled with new possibilities.
More time to cook for my honey, my beloved daughters and their families, our friends right here in River City.
So that's what's been roiling through my brain as I sit in my cave watching the rain drip and daydreaming.
We artists are the luckiest people on the planet; know why? Because we know that as creators of things we are also the creators of our own lives. We are given bodies and situations and then we get to decide how to tell the story. And knowing we have this choice makes all the difference.