I've felt so drained lately. I'm talking seriously lacking interest in life.
Unmotivated, unenthused, unhappy, joyless--just plain blah! And don't let that exclamation mark fool ya, cause there isn't any excitement towards my art either. Every five minutes I'm blowing my nose, and still on antibiotics from a strep throat infection and sinus inflamation I had last week. Oh, and did I mention that I'm 4 months pregnant? My husband is driving me madd (and I'm so okay with him knowing this), I totally missed an opportunity to be featured in a summer exhibit (because of my own lack of planning), and sleep? HA! forget about it! Who could get comfortable at night having to pee all the time and with a brand new bulge in the front giving me back pains? Add to that, I really really miss all my old friends and kids I used to teach.
Now before you go feeling all empathetic for me, I know this is just a phase and I'll work through these feelings. I won't be pregant forever, in fact I'm due late March/early April. I'll pick up the phone soon and get back in touch with old friends and the family I care to speak to, and through social mediums (like twitter and facebook) I can at least see pictures of my pre-K class from my old job.
I've been an artist all my life, and it's not as nifty as one may think. I used to struggle with not having an overly exaggerated ego and remaining hubble at having a gift to draw & paint. When I was younger, I was so much better at art than I am now. My thoughts hadn't been miseducated by stupid art courses & high-school painting classes. I was a pure artist with free forming work. People would tell me all the time that I was indeed an artist, and a good one at that. I would smile politely, and shrug off the compliments. Not really knowing how to accept a compliment, and not get a big head about it.
Just this year have I embraced the fact that, yes, I AM an artist. Certain sounds make me literally see color combinations in my mind. I can hear rain beating down on concrete and close my eyes and see yellows, golds, and harsh coffee colored sparks of color. I'm always visualizing how an everyday scene or person would look painted. How I could bring out the subtle emotions from a swaying group of trees. Sometimes its just too much! I get overloaded and have to block things out to the point that it's a bit too quiet. I know that sometimes you don't wait for inspiration to float down from the heavens and enlighten you. If you're an artist, you just pick up the damn brush and begin the piece. You grab a molding knife, and a piece of clay and squish it between the fingers until a form appears. Why? Because it's apart of who I am. It would be like a thirsty man resisting water.
Unmotivated, unenthused, unhappy, joyless--just plain blah! And don't let that exclamation mark fool ya, cause there isn't any excitement towards my art either. Every five minutes I'm blowing my nose, and still on antibiotics from a strep throat infection and sinus inflamation I had last week. Oh, and did I mention that I'm 4 months pregnant? My husband is driving me madd (and I'm so okay with him knowing this), I totally missed an opportunity to be featured in a summer exhibit (because of my own lack of planning), and sleep? HA! forget about it! Who could get comfortable at night having to pee all the time and with a brand new bulge in the front giving me back pains? Add to that, I really really miss all my old friends and kids I used to teach.
Now before you go feeling all empathetic for me, I know this is just a phase and I'll work through these feelings. I won't be pregant forever, in fact I'm due late March/early April. I'll pick up the phone soon and get back in touch with old friends and the family I care to speak to, and through social mediums (like twitter and facebook) I can at least see pictures of my pre-K class from my old job.
I've been an artist all my life, and it's not as nifty as one may think. I used to struggle with not having an overly exaggerated ego and remaining hubble at having a gift to draw & paint. When I was younger, I was so much better at art than I am now. My thoughts hadn't been miseducated by stupid art courses & high-school painting classes. I was a pure artist with free forming work. People would tell me all the time that I was indeed an artist, and a good one at that. I would smile politely, and shrug off the compliments. Not really knowing how to accept a compliment, and not get a big head about it.
Just this year have I embraced the fact that, yes, I AM an artist. Certain sounds make me literally see color combinations in my mind. I can hear rain beating down on concrete and close my eyes and see yellows, golds, and harsh coffee colored sparks of color. I'm always visualizing how an everyday scene or person would look painted. How I could bring out the subtle emotions from a swaying group of trees. Sometimes its just too much! I get overloaded and have to block things out to the point that it's a bit too quiet. I know that sometimes you don't wait for inspiration to float down from the heavens and enlighten you. If you're an artist, you just pick up the damn brush and begin the piece. You grab a molding knife, and a piece of clay and squish it between the fingers until a form appears. Why? Because it's apart of who I am. It would be like a thirsty man resisting water.
