Faith In My Art

I have a way of doing things, an order to my mornings.  The rest of the day is less predictable.  But my morning routine prepares me for the day.

I take care of the animals first, then meditation.  Next comes breakfast, because I’m hungry by then, and a shower before going to my studio.

I’ve even gotten breakfast down, I can get it all together in the 13 minutes it takes to boil the eggs.

I like to have a clear head when I go to my studio.  No bookkeeping or anything organizational (which I can get obsessive about)  those things that throw my creative self off and make it harder to get myself back.

(Although in reality, those things often intrude)

The two sides of the brain.  The left (analytical)  allows me to live in the world, the right (creative) makes my life worth living.

For most of my life I questioned my desire to make art.   It has always been a thread, sometimes stretched so thin, I almost lost myself.  It was only when I accepted that my art was a necessity, not a choice, that I truly fell into myself.

Now I live there, tumbling around, poking my head out everyday into the world around me.

I’ll aways have my art, I tell myself, even if my body fails me.  Like Grandma Moses, I’ll find a way.  I have faith in the idea that, no matter what happens,  I’ll always have my art.  I think of it the same way I hear people talk about God.

Someone or thing  that  you can depend on, especially in the worst of times.