To make time, to be disciplined...

Art "work". Work. Work?!

Since when did it get to be such WORK to put anything out there? To even sit, with myself, alone, with my self-conscious unconscious...with my lonely little void, and say "A-ha...hi, you...let's get out the paints, the pens, pencils, papers...let's put on our favorite tunes now and see what comes up...you with me?" (Oh jeez, get a glass of water....with me y'know it's gonna be a cry-fest...)

It's been years. For years and years and years have I really avoided this. But why? Fear, I suppose? Just the basic fear of the unknown?

Or is it much more? Is it the mere idea that out of that terrifyingly dark void inside of me might actually be... a TRUE and BRIGHT little being, a manifestation of my creative spirit, ready to be exposed, to be perhaps even a true inspiration to others? To touch people's lives? To make them feel that they too, have that right, to go within, to seek out that void, to hold themselves to a higher standard of humanity through their art???

The other day my sister came to visit me from out of state. She insisted upon me bringing over my portfolios so she could pick a few pieces out (we're talking crap that i scribbled on paper in high school here, splatters of paint, really). And for a moment, I saw my art through her eyes and realized...I'm actually NOT that bad...she picked 3 pieces and had to promise me she would keep them with her always before I let her take them (Apparently I was more possessive of my scribbles than I had even realized!)

A friend told me tonight some people have the ability to really put themselves emotionally into a piece. He was talking about me too.

Okay, okay, okay...then, world, I will give you what I can...just a little bit at a time...I will do this "work"...with pleasure, and what a privilege it is to have the ability to do so.