What’s Eating My Brain?

Hello!  Long time, no blog.  I know, believe me.  The absence has been felt.  However, I’m back.  In part, thanks to my 2015 New Year’s Resolutions, but mostly because I missed this too much not make it a part of my life.

Things I’ve discovered since starting my new job.  A job in which I talk with people all day long eats my words if I don’t nurture them carefully.  For too long, I’ve come home exhausted and unable to string together a coherent sentence. (Hopefully, that is better now.)  This will stifle writing like…well, like forgetting how to talk will stifle a conversation.

However, this did not stop my creative drive. At.  All.  In fact, without the wonderful outlet of the written word, the need to create got a little manic sometimes.  Drawings, paintings, quilting, crocheting, playing music, Legos (of course) all stepped in to take over, and I’ve produced some really great stuff.

I missed my words though.  Like most of us who are driven to write, it is more who we are than what we do, and when that part gets locked away for whatever reason, it feels, for me anyway, like a wound that won’t stop aching.  During the  “wordless time” whenever I tried to write, the ache got worse because if the mocking cursor on the blank screen drew anything out of me, it was disjointed. Reviewing what I’d written was more painful, because the form (rambling though my style may be) was shoddy and little sense could be made from the pitiful scraps I was trying to sew together.

This being said.  Please bear with me as I try to find my voice again. I feel a bit like Peter Pan with his wayward shadow.  It is out there somewhere.  I. Just. Have. To. Find. It.

I’ve also been left with stacks of really great art, and no idea what to do with it.  I may be turning to all of you for some advice once I get an idea of how to part with these pieces…if I can part with it.

Art is a funny thing.  I feel deeply that it is meant to be shared, for what good is a vision no one else sees.  Why put pen to paper or brush to canvas unless you want to share your vision with someone else.  Right?  However, as an artist I feel particularly vulnerable whenever I let someone look at my pieces, much less go home with them.  Luckily, I’m convinced I’m not alone in this. (Thank you Amanda Palmer for The Art of Asking.  I’ll tell you guys more about that one a little later.) I also need to part with some of this so I can make room for more new pieces. (My house should not overflow with stuff.)

Life ate my brain for a while.  I’m sorry.  I think it is better now.  I hope.  Maybe?
‘Til next time,

Jessica