feh. &c.

[catsidhe]

Woof.

---

Abbi was very proud of herself yesterday when she went off to childcare. She was wearing a skirt and proudly proclaimed "I look like a princess!"

It is said that every father likes the idea of his daughter being a princess. Not least, however, because of what this implies of his status.

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I think I know what was the straw that drew the Dog onto me: Rolf Harris' Celebrity Portraits last night. It's wonderful to watch, but when I do, all I can think about, in between bouts of crippling envy as to the artists' skill, is that I used to draw. I used to paint. I haven't picked up a pencil in anger in over a decade, and when I try now, I am so disgusted with my attempts that I have to give up. And as for painting, I would love to paint. I just have to set up an easel and canvas. I just have to get an easel and canvas I just have to find a place to set up an easel and canvas i just have to find the time to work on an easel and canvas ijusthavetohave the skillto dosomethingworthwhile withaneasel andcanvasijusthavetohavetohaveto...

Ah fuckit.

I can't read Charles de Lint's Memories and Dreams either, for the same reason. It is full, from beginning to end, of descriptions of the joy of painting, of the way you can lose yourself in creation, and surround yourself with the results, and thus pass some of that joy on to others. I once had a taste of that. Ok, so I wasn't Leonardo, but I could dream. And now I fear that I will never feel that joy again.¹

And on my friends list are so many brilliant writers. At least one for whom writing is his profession, and tooticky who has won her way into a writing workshop. (That is, won as the prize for effort, rather than through dumb luck.) And me? I can whinge. I have written the occasional decent diatribe. But I just can't put the pieces together to write a story, whether short or long. I spend far too much time at the level of words and sentences to be able to stand back and look at plot or character. I don't even know where to begin.

And even if I did know, I don't have the time to practice. My time is chopped into little pieces, whatever the day, or time of day, or place. And flow is as important to art as it is to coding. You need that time to get the work into your head, and get your head around it before you can start to meaningfully add to what's there, and once you're in that flow then time ceases to have meaning. Flow is a precious state

... three hours later ...

You see, that's exactly what I'm talking about.

---

Right now I just want to hide under my desk and cry. Literally.

I used up today's quota of 'happyface' earlier this morning, and now I can't even bring myself to fake being cheerful.

I hate that dog.

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[1] Of course, at the moment I find it hard to feel any joy whatsoever, but you get the idea.

Comments

[ghymoreids-mum.livejournal.com]

i studied piano to 'letters' level........
*i 'think' i understand what you mean*

[kitling.livejournal.com]

Some pictures you have drawn are still on display around our house. A comic book cover in the toilet, a dragon on my wall which is still comtemplate turning into a tatt.

I wish I could encourage you to draw more.

[usuakari.livejournal.com]

*random hug alternative*

Today, I really know how you feel. Lots of running around accomplishing fuck-all. No-one's better. No-one's worse. And uultimately I haven't actually done much. I'm coming to the conclusion that an afternoon spent reading up on mental health strategies in the workplace when somewhat sleep-deprived is not all that good for me.

[tooticky.livejournal.com]

Didn't think I'd let this pass uncommented on, did you?
I can deeply empathise, both with the feeling of lost/suspended talents and the lack of time or energy to fulfill them- strangely enough, given my recent good fortune.
A couple of things come to mind, in no particular order.
1)I'm the same with music. I gave up a pretty respectable musical talent about fourteen years ago for a combination of reasons that now seem both stupid and inevitable. Some of them were as simple as I couldn't live at home and go to uni when it took me 2 hours to get there, and I couldn't take my piano with my to my new house. Music aggravated a tendency in me to be harsh on myself, and elitist- therefore, I tend to feel that I've "forfeited" my talent. And worse still, I will never sit down to play while I feel this way about myself. Just stupid really. Beating myself up because I'm not going to be world class now, and denying myself a real pleasure.
2)Meagan Lindholm/Robin Hobb, that patron saint of new parents and struggling artists delivered a powerful kick in the pants to me at Continuum last year by saying that "you will never have any more time than you have now". What she did as a young mother of 21 was put a small amount of time aside each week to work on her writing. And she was very brave, and probably more than a little arrogant, and she kept going no matter how tired and worried she got. She, and an artist colleague at work is testimony to me that it is possible to pursue an art you love and work and have children. They both give me hope! That being said, you need to choose a time that's yours. Turn the tv off. Clear a space in your house (and I know that's at a premium right now) and have a look at something you'd like to do. Write down your ideas, even if they're stupid. It doesn't matter- you've begun. That's exactly what I do. It takes me about six months to write 6000 words of fiction at the moment, but I hope to get faster.
3)Any art is a craft. Perhaps your abilities as a teenager seemed greater to you back then partially because you were less discriminating, through less exposure. Perhaps it's harder to look at what you're doing now with the same pride and optimism, now you know you're not on an instant path to glory. but crafts are learnable, perfectable things, where it's okay to get it wrong, and try fixing your mistakes. Perhaps on your list could be a special class to attend that helps you with technical skills you need, or provides you with inspiration. This is the only way that I can approach writing that allows me to write. Otherwise I would see an impermeable barrier between myself and "real writers". Be humble, but not defeatist, if that makes sense. Take pleasure in just doing the thing.
4) Everyone who tries any art-form suffers from that feeling that your time is chopped into pieces. I hate it. But I have to support myself, and I have a foot-hold in a career that might oneday actually pay me, and that I love. I think it's worse when you're studying as well, personally, and I can imagine having kids would be a perpetual interruption. The only thing I can suggest is that you can't wait until "inspiration comes" and then start, especially when time management is such an issue for you. Instead you have to create a space for inspiration to live, both physically and inside you. Internally, the inspiration that i think you mean when you describe "flow" continues, breathing in and out whether you work on the project today or tomorrow. The best you can do is sit down and give yourself a space to try.
Good luck. :)

Lost dreams

[(Anonymous)]

Yes, I too, understand. Once upon a time I made beautiful clothes for the children of the elite of Melbourne. I created garments for many people, some of them were brides. Then I had children and I had little time to sew, but still did some. When a need to earn a living took over my life there was no time to for anything else and at the end of the day I was too tired. I am hoping that if I can ever retire, I will still have the eyesight and ability to learn again. At the moment I do not have the confidence.
Try to have a drawing pad and when you can, do some drawing. It won't take up much space and like anything (such as music) a little often will keep up you ability to get back to it when you can. And, don't give up your calligraphy.
Mum