Nothing has changed and yet a lot has changed. I still spend almost all of my time at home. I finished an editing project, so my time is my own now. My daily To Do list usually includes: Cook, Clean, Organize, Clay. I usually do the first and the last of these; the middle two are, well, ignored–as always.
What has changed is something internal. I’m operating in a different, unknown frequency. I have less patience for some things, and yet, I’m more understanding of other things.
This is the first time I’ve purposefully written anything. I’ve not written for Medium since the shutdown began. I’m reconsidering whether I’m still a writer. Are you a writer if you don’t write?
So maybe I’m not a writer anymore. What am I?
I’m exploring my self in the fine arts. That sounds pedantic, pretentious, and oh-give-me-a-word-that-begins-with-pre-but-isn’t-preposterous.
I’ve always had a studio art side. Having professional fine artists on both sides of my family, my parents heartily encouraged whatever interest I showed for drawing, etc. So I was a prepubescent 10 year old taking life drawing classes at the Carnegie museum (the male model did wear a g-string). I was an art minor at Pitt. Since then, I have eagerly collected a multi-media stockpile fit for the likes of Dick Blick. Name the medium, and I have dabbled.
Most recently–the past several years, actually, I have taken up polymer clay as a medium. And that has led me more and more down Alice’s hole. It has raised for me questions concerning my specific response to creativity that fascinate–and sort of scare me.
My intention is to explore them here on this blog. I may end up talking to myself, but what else is new.