Before the dust settles and I give up for the night….I have some realizations to share…Realizations? Observations? Complaints? Whines? I don’t know what to call them…but they are weighing on me…I hope for the better…
A week ago I was sharing my disappointment for my artistic ability. I felt disillusioned by the art I was attempting to create, the project that I am determined to complete. I realized that I had been creating in fear. Editing myself too much and I was able to correct my mistake with some bold lines and bright colours. I love that piece now.
I had a good chunk of my current play read at The Women’s Room tonight. And I find myself back in the same seat with the same disappointment, the same lack of belief and trust in myself and my ability. And it sucks.
Driving home from the meeting I went through the various stages of anger, rejection, disbelief. I considered quitting…I questioned my state of reality. Perhaps my dream of writing was all just a self afflicted illusion…For a second. Just a fleeting…single second.
When I was younger and my parents left me alone I would run into the kitchen and either nuke up whatever cheese we had in the fridge until it melted into a puddle of bubbling grease and then slurp it down, or attack an entire loaf of bread. When no adult was around I felt no accountability whatsoever. No care about the consequences of my actions…I was only concerned with those few moments of freedom. And over indulging.
When I draw/colour my portraits I have accountability to those whose images I am copying. When I write…well, no one needs to read it. I can do whatever I want without any limitations. Reading my current play that is completely obvious. Every time I’ve had a moment of inspiration; a sensory memory, a scent, a fleeting thought, an interesting idea…I’ve thrown it all into the pot. My lovely, overpowering ego believed that I could just make it all work as a piece as long as I put the time and work in.
No accountability. Not a good thing to own I think. I have a responsibility to my children, but I also have a responsibility to my audience, to my actors, to my readers,…to me…I think I do a better job when I believe that I have someone to answer to. I don’t get lazy or over indulge. I force myself to balance…So…I’ve got some work to do. I’ve over written and now I’ve been told to not write at all but to act it out…hone it down…find the images that speak to me and work around those. I’ve probably got three plays all written into one.
I had so much to say this time that I let it blow up into a circus. I don’t like circuses. I like the intimacy of two people communicating, listening, and breathing together in the same space…I forgot that…