Pool

I started following my creative urges as though they were paths through the woods. Something appealed to me, and I followed it. I was, and still am often clumsy. On the path, I hit my head on branches or trip over rocks, tree roots, or slight rises or dips in the dirt. Following an artistic impulse doesn’t always lead to the production of a satisfying painting or photograph. Sometimes it clicks, or the potential of an idea seems worth exploring. I don’t make a list of the pros and cons, I just play. Sometimes the play unfolds to reveal more and more potential, and sometimes I just need to clean up the playroom. The play was reward enough. If it turns into something more, that’s a gift. If I am open, and someone else is interested, I can teach what I do. Or what I did. Not to do it exactly the way I do, but to find the paths on your road of life. The paths that lead inward. It’s safe inside, even if there were things that frightened or hurt you. You can free those locked away memories, celebrate them or forgive them, and when you look outward, you can enjoy the unobstructed view. This is what inspires me. The view. I want to share it, so I try my best to copy it down. It is framed by all of my stored memories. It is more than what it is. What you see will be surrounded, and perhaps obstructed by those records that are unique to you. As artists, this is what we do. It is who we are. If I try to teach you something, you will be teaching me the whole time, and you might not even be aware of it. My creative zone crouches inside me, hoping for a chance to spring into action. Or maybe it’s a pool. A still, reflective pool that has settled in my deepest part, waiting to splash to life when I jump into it or dip my brush into it. All I have to do is pick up a paintbrush. It’s always there.

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