artist, writer, professor of art, and a bit goober with a pinch of klutz – making it through one more day as gratefully as i can
I’ve had something similar to this posted on my blog for six or so years. in my mfa visual art thesis I repeatedly discuss writing as significant to not only who I am as artist but who I am as human. writing as a part of me surfaced while fulfilling the mandate to write art history papers and my compulsion at avoiding boring even myself with historical regurgitation. a more freeing writing began in prep for my mfa thesis. so terrified of its encroachment I began free writing to try and loosen up and prepare. this writing became the basis of my thesis and a new way of living.
here is what I know about me, the things I absolutely need, I need to make, this is raw and visceral, I need it’s physicality, its release, I need to write, it anchors everything in me, it knits me anew, I need to mentor, I am hard wired that way, if only to teach another how to make their own life a tad more doable, a smidge more content, I need a small intimate tribe with proximity, a tether of camaraderie.
the making, writing, mentoring are happening. though I want to intentionally pursue, immerse into, the linked gap between making and writing. a new tribe will eventually come. I can do nothing about that in this place currently and simply will let go of its tentative butt smelling pursuit. dopty showed up when it was time. she choose for me to belong, I accepted her offer. never really believed in love at first sight, but that belief is now undermined by the Dopt. she also reopened me to that good things just happen (as does *#>^ but I already knew that!).
i redundantly recast this statement in hopes i will follow–I will continue the mentoring but more actively step into this gapping space between making and writing. I will plunge, immerse, jump. may end up fiscally poor, but that is absolutely a risk at this point I am willing myself into making. better fiscally poor than being 80 saying, I wish I had followed that tug built into me, the one where passion lairs where risk must be taken. I need to follow that tug. the learned tug of fiscal responsibility, the tug to stay safe, the tug to stay here to navigate the known is making me sick, sick of heart–it taints so many a moment, makes all things I am grateful for si very hard to see, to feel, to enjoy. and there is much for which I am grateful. cast I must.
“Poetry is more important than ever before because of its short broken space. It fits.” — Eileen Myles0