Fast forward forty years and I could survive artistically for months in my house with all the supplies and materials I have. It is gross, actually, and it amazes me when I find that I do need to go to a store to actually get something for a class or project. And yet...what am I creating? I currently have a few small things in the works, and a couple Grand Ideas on the wall. And samples for classes I am teaching. Because of health (and age!) I need more rest than I used to, and productivity is down. I have to accept this. I write about it here a lot as if seeing it in writing makes it real. I am scared that time is running out. My hands are becoming more stiff, sore, and are noticeably changing shape. This scares me. I think we all are, in some way, racing against time as we get older. It becomes harder to take time for granted. It would be so easy to stop thinking about creating things, to just exist amongst the bird chatter and kitty meows, and the daily dog walks. But I can't.
The ever-elusive great idea looms around the corner, just up the road a bit. If I can ever get to it before it disappears, I have a piece to make. Very often it slips into a doorway as I approach. When I am not engaged in a larger, more complex piece, I feel less happy, less centered, less fulfilled in my own life. The ambiguity of not being engaged in the dialogue of creating is anxiety producing. It is these times when I break out a new media or try to learn a new technique, which adds to the chaos of options that exist all around me in my art space. Maybe...if I just had canvas and yarn, I'd be making more work? Hmmmm...
Sometimes all I think I need is thread and cloth to be happy. Ok, and beads. Can't forget them! But would I get bored with such limitations, or would I get more creative with them? Hard to tell.
So, on this extra-long day due to Daylight Savings Time, I hope to see beyond the material gluttony and work on chasing down the next lead that I've been given for a "real" piece of art. I have images pinned to my wall, calling out for new experimentation and new results. Art in a transitory time, amidst the tactile riches of the 21st century. At least until Tilly needs a nap. Cheers.