I have been reading Steven Pressfield again. The war of art. It was timely. Sometimes books like this come along exactly when you need them. Beginning is hard. Always. I have for a long time had a real fear of sharing my creative work. Only friends and family - visitors to my home -would see my work. And I realise now that this is not enough. I don't need to sell it - or make money from my art - well not yet - but I do need to share it (and I definitely need to make time to make it) because it is such a big part of me - or at least the dream of the person I want to be.
Not long ago we moved to a new house. Up until that point I thought I was a minimalist. But I discovered I had so much stuff. Not clothes and kitchen stuff - but art books, art materials, sketch books and folios. Things I had kept close (through quite a few moves to be honest) but items that hadn't played a central role in my daily life for a really long time. Except for being on my walls and shelves - there to look at. But they still played a central part in my identity - in who I thought of as me - but this wasn't the way I had been spending my days. Knowing they were keys to my person - to who I really was. But they had been kept on the fringes of my identity. I had kept them on the fringe.
I am not sure what I was hoping to achieve. Pressfield would call this resistance. For me it is a kind of sabotaging. Of wanting one thing, and seeking it in all the wrong places. This is a personal journey. One I am not entirely sure should be shared here. It is personal. But sharing it here makes it real. Be compassionate. Be kind.