In this pandemic time, it is so hard for me to focus on making art. It’s not from a lack of desire. And there are many emotions at play that could feed the creative process. Uncertainty and fear. Confusion. Helplessness. Sadness at the loss of life and normalcy. But my psyche apparently has enough to do just coping with the daily undercurrents swirling around us. So…I busy myself with smaller, more mundane projects which might yield a sense of accomplishment. Making cards from older paintings on paper. Cleaning out my studio. Cleaning the house. Tackling projects that have been on my “to do” list for months.
There are small comforts. I find moments of peace walking in a nearby forest where I’ve found pieces of bark, twigs, and acorn tops to use in mark making. I watch the blossoms unfolding on the magnolia, viburnum and redbud trees of our block. I greatly enjoy the chalk art on sidewalks, and all the creative ways our neighborhood children find to be together at at safe distance.
I am at a safe distance from my Muse. I travel my day in an information-gathering state of mind. Still, I am optimistic that all my fleeting observations and insights are weaving together, just below the surface of my awareness. I have no idea what they will say to me later, or how they will find their way into my art. But I am confident that there will be veins of rich ore to tap.
My Muse will return. And I will welcome her with open arms.
Waiting For Her Muse (16″ x 12″ oil, cold wax, pastels, ink on wood)