A rebirth is what I seek.
Not merely a change but an evolution. The crack between the two processes is where something happens, the smudge to evolve. Meditation has become an essential ingredient in the alchemy. A silence without incantation; wordless spells. I sit and try not to think.
This weekend was that creative new moon in some sign or another. My desire for an original and inspired time was in the stars. I was hungry to find a productive outlet; to paint and write and find some peace beyond. Adventurously, the breakfast was Heston Blumenthal-ed. Somehow (I declined to ask for details), the coffee and the eggs entwined. He took an executive decision to continue to cook those eggs. It was Sunday. There were no more eggs in the house. They evolved into something between frog spawn and cat sick, but funny. Inedible but hilarious. Inventive and bravely inspired. Gross, but somehow just what I needed. It was refreshing and endearing to see my man’s human flaws.
Once the gloom of an artist’s block envelopes you, perfectionism is the monster in the dark. The effort and the learning are disregarded. We all need to produce messy images. We need permission to engage with chaos and disorder. My brain is in turmoil. I need to honour my dis-ease. Judgement is anathema to creativity.
I need to produce messy images.
I’m giving myself permission to engage with chaos and disorder and to find the joy within.