Life has a way of getting in the way of art. It sometimes seems to me that either you make your life all about art, and to hell with the rest, or you valiantly struggle through your life, crossing all your t’s and dotting all your i’s, and you never get a sodding bit of art done at all. And then there is all the drama and chaos. I’m feeling hemmed in right now. I, me personally, am fine. But between the time I spend trying to live a sane sustainable life, and the shit storm that is constantly battering the glass walls of my personal bubble, I’m finding it harder and harder to be creative.
And it’s like this shit storm just keeps getting bigger and bigger, picking up debris in its wake and spreading it across the face of my world. You know when you buy a new car (new to you) and say it’s a Volkswagen Beetle or whatever (you pick) and suddenly you just see them everywhere on the road – or it’s because you’re playing Punch Buggy, but the point is that they go from being invisible to almost all you can see? Is that what this storm of disaster is all about? Or is the world really going to hell faster and faster, like the spin cycle on a washing machine?
I don’t honestly know. For me things are very much the same as they have always been: slightly better maybe, but with slightly less time. I’m trading time for comfort. But that’s just me. Everyone else and everywhere else seems to be blowing apart at the seams, or at least in need of a few denim patches. Oh yeah, and that time thing, it’s a bitch. It brings me back to the first thought. I spend more time working, more time fretting about things I cannot change in the lives of people who seem bent on destruction, and less time doing the things I really love: making stuff.
For me, making stuff is a huge area. It’s writing, it’s creating Pan Historia, it’s painting, it’s learning new skills, it’s books, and museums, and pulling in inspiration from all around me to turn it into moments of insight and art. But when life starts to feel like a buzz saw, saw dust flying until it chokes, and your eyes start to blink and tear up, where is the time to be found for the creativity?
Take a nap. Play a mindless game. Lose myself in some meaningless movie made for TV.
Waste the precious moments even as I scream about losing the time: it was so hard to find, and as I get older it is an ever vanishing resource.