A Day Off

Took the whole day off yesterday! Slept for 11 hours which was badly needed, then spent half the day in bed, reading, journaling, and having brilliant art ideas…
I’m so inspired seeing my work up, my brain has been firing with exhibition ideas, launch possibilities (most art launches are painfully dull and involve lots of speeches… I’m thinking of fire breathing performances instead… ) and ideas for new works… I can actually really conceive of a professional arts practice for myself, up until now it has been so much a matter of faith/wistful hope…

I do so much wrong really to be a professional artist. You’re told to stick to one medium, develop a recognisable style, and once you have something marketable, to mine the work for all it’s worth. I’m hopeless at all of this! I don’t like the idea of artificial exclusivity through limited edition prints, I like the idea of anyone who likes or finds an artwork helpful being able to get their hands on a print. I like art that’s accessible rather than alienating, and deeply personal. I hate replicating a work, I’m always looking to make something new… But maybe there’s a niche for me after all. I can see the possibilities and I’ve been luxuriating in that. I’ve so much to create, so much I want to say, and finally my life is stable enough that I think it’s going to happen. Magic. Resting and dreaming and finding confidence in the identity of an artist.

2 thoughts on “A Day Off

  1. A very experienced professional told me whan I was around 35 and sharing with her my deep love for psychodrama, she had been lucky at my age as Moreno (the founder) had taken her on as a young trainee despite “megalomaniac” tendencies (implying she would no such thing with me). I was not offended because I began to realise that even she and people in general could only see the outer layers of my personality, acquired over years of self-devaluing, confusion due to traumatic stress (as a highly sensitive) and amotional abuse in formative years by significant adult. So I had to learn to be patient not only with myself while outgrowing those, but also with those who couldn’t see. Another said, then why did I look “so odd”. (That still makes me furious because I paid her a lot of money). Since then, over 25 years, I have had only a handful of people, 3 of them men (more is the irony) who could see me, deeply. And, gradually, I thought I am developing some techniques to express the depth of me through some art… – only the other week to have my mind blown open again, at age 61, that might mean a completely different technique, one I would never have considered, had it not been for pure serendipidity… and so the story goes on. Much love and courage for you!


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