Dear Reader,
I am that dog. When I am writing, I think about making art,
when I am making art, I think about writing. It does not mean
that I lack concentration when doing either one. It has to do
with how long a period I spend on one without doing the other.
After decades of dancing between palette and pen, I know the
signs of longing.
Weeks or months without making a finished piece of art weigh
on me now. I am a sponge saturated with water, waiting to dry
out enough to be pliant and get to work. It has been a shocking
four months since I completed my last artwork. I have been otherwise
occupied (see Judy’s Journals – 2023 June, July/August).
Lately, I have been dreaming - my subconscious is a tell-tale
heart that thumps with guilt/anxiety/sadness. But in these dreams,
I am sketching, sketching, sketching. Pen flying across paper,
in constant motion, seeing spaces filling in with trees, leaves,
stone walls, then portraits spill out – eyebrows, noses,
eyes, sometimes abstract designs. Sketching dreams are always
happy, then I wake up. My planned studio days have vanished
in the service of writing. Do I not love writing? Of course,
I love writing. But I am that dog who has been too long on one
side of the door.
Too long means I begin to doubt that I can ever make art again,
which is a terrifying thought. How and where to start again?
I could gather my materials, spread them out and begin. Pretend
I have not taken a “break.” Or I could sketch. Just
grab the blank book and a pen and sketch. See how it feels.
No plan. No goal. No judgments. Simply see what or who comes
out of the tip of the pen. Just like in my dreams.
When the door opened, this was waiting on the other side. The
woman on the left looks worried, doesn’t she? I think I
deposited my anxiety with her. And there it will stay. For a
while.
