Pottery, April 10, 2016
I have not been quiet about the struggle I am having with writing during this project and I’ve been spending a lot of time considering – Why.
I’ve come up with more than one reason, a sort of tapestry of different aspects. One is my life situation. The shift from focusing on being creative to meeting my basic needs left me drained with a lack of creative energy. My daily practice began to suffer with less and less time and energy to dedicate to it. Coming to my work felt too far in between and disconnected. Another reason, and a compounded one, is specific to the nature of this project. It is the difference between producing a poem on a schedule compared to my usual custom of writing poetry when the poem presents itself. I am finding it a true challenge to to get past the pressure to produce every day when I don’t feel well versed, my energy drained and resources depleted.
Aside from all that, this project has been great for the purpose of holding a mirror to my work regime in its current situation. Probably the most important realization is one that needed me to back up, way back and take a big picture view at what I was going through. What I saw was an artist and a person that was struggling and fighting for balance and survival. But just as a backed up to take a look, I also zoomed in to those quiet moments when I am alone with tool and medium. What was the joy? I remembered it there in that wonderful in sync feeling of being in the zone, visited by my creative muse. What would happen in those visits was – trust. My creative muse would direct me and I would trust the direction.
I considered this on a small scale and wondered why it to be any different on a large scale, for example, a scale that included my entire life. At that thought I realized that I wanted to trust. So I did. I trusted this time in my life with its struggles and brokeness to have meaning to call out some greatness in me. To push me beyond what I think I am capable of.
I thought of a potter talking to their clay, the clay responds not knowing the painful processes it will endure will turn it into a beautiful piece of pottery. I had a choice to make. Then this poem was born.