Today I gave my collaging a break. Wanted to artfully describe the frustration, the real feelings I feel when I go to create and I can’t. I wrote posts instead. And I also wanted to share the other art that’s happened so far. Let the catharsis continue. Create or die trying.
Hands poised over the keyboard, a hovering potential of something to come in the space between. Then…The horrible screeching of toddler joined by an unskilled clarinet honk.
My nerves already frazzly. “Why is she crying” I scream.
“Put it away, it’s not a toy.”
No nap is inevitable. I’m foretelling the same tired future. More raw nerves.
Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Twitch twitch twitch.
Seems so easy to do the laundry, clean, and sometimes even cook. These can be accomplished, or interrupted, without a broken heart. No worries, the dirt doesn’t care. A mostly clean house most of the time means I’m winning. No need for inspiration and a muse, vacuum on.
But the art cares.
Tragedy is being so close to the escape of your heart, you will soon soar and disappear and then…”Mommy, I poopy!” I’m afraid my brain will seize up from the grief of stopping. I’m afraid my dashed expectations will paralyze me. Make me more angry, the fury at the helplessness. I am bloated with my fear and my potential.
I’ll just try tomorrow…when there’s time…when there’s space…when I can think…when I’m not afraid.
The creativity challenge continues as does thirty-one days straight of posts. To be continued.
Wanna see the whole month of posts? Start here.
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