I have a plethora (however many you think that is) of beautiful books on quilting, fiber art, book arts and the like. They are always at my fingertips, along with certain back-issues of much-loved magazines such as Selvedge or Quilting Arts, not to mention old Gudrun Sjoden catalogs. I have four works in progress laying out in various states of completion, including the crows piece I've had since winter, a Traveler's Blanket (online class with Dijanne Ceval), and two starts on food/justice works for upcoming shows. I also have patterns and fabric out for a curtain I started last December, which I'm being clunky about. I have a nice new work surface, and all the materials I need at my fingertips. And I am dragging dragging dragging my heels. I want to work. I did, a little. I dyed some woven cloth with Setacolors, but my sunprint wouldn't work because the sun went away. And in spite of my heat gun and also a couple hours on the line, the darned thing STILL isn't dry.
I spent the best part of the day being a consumer; and since I've been home, I've accomplished little more than swept floors and a few loads of laundry. I've played a lot of mahjong on facebook. And then a lot of Freecell. I ate a Hershey bar. Made sure the boy practiced his piano, and took a bath. Resolved a few bureaucratic hassles on the phone.
It's been building over the past few days, this muddle. I've watched a lot of TV. Drank some vodka, and some wine. Felt devoid of energy. Could be hormones, partly. Could be the transition between school-year and summer for the family. Decreasing amounts of quiet time, personal space. Seeping angst, and the usual relational struggles (people with lots of ideas about how I could be a better person.)
Art is sometimes a lonely business, and a struggle. It's central to my identity, and when it isn't "right" I feel really down and off. Or maybe it's the other way round?
As a friend said, tomorrow is another day I guess.
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