Tomorrow is my last studio show. Next week we pack up, organize the inventory that's left, and clear all surfaces for for the next scary/exciting phase.
I will sequester myself into my own artist retreat. Cloister. Isolate. Be non-responsive. Go deep inside. No distractions.
Last year the big snows gave me that, and it was one of the most thrilling times I remember. 3 weeks of pushing through walls and walls of habit, self-doubt, emptiness, fear, and a profound desire to run back to my comfort zone.
And I kept pushing.
Out of that, a new creative process began to emerge, which became my new line for the year. It was a glorious, manic, consuming and totally joyful process once I found my way into it. But it required every bit of that time. Time to first clear my mind, both of the knee-jerk "need" to sit down to produce and fill orders as I do every single day, as well as time to clear my mind of assumptions and expectations. Time to battle all the insecurities, the total blankness, the terrifying LACK of creativity. Time to make some initial stabs in the dark that are utterly devoid of spark and point to no possible path (not to mention ugly and hopeless...). Time to patiently keep gently nudging, nudging, nudging... but with a quiet mind that has given up its fight. Time to stop nudging and just watch, look, feel. Time to quiet enough that I can begin to catch the faintest glimmer of light waaayyyyy off to the side of my vision. Time to silently stalk that glimmer, not even breathing for fear it will disappear. And yet, breathing steadily and walking toward it with confidence.
Being willing to "waste" expensive materials in the process. Not to mention time.
That is the process I will soon invite into my being. I'm scared again of the blank canvas. I am trying to slow myself down now, in preparation. That is a project all in its own. I've been going so fast the past weeks. Well, the past year, actually.
So I'm off to yoga to practice.