Something is wrong with time. It goes too fast. I was sure this would be the year that I'd blog more, but here it is...a quarter of the way through and I haven't blogged since the New Year. Maybe I just don't think I have enough to say, or don't take the time to make it worthy, or something.
I've recently learned two (completely unrelated) things from two (completely unrelated) friends:
- As it turns out..."real bloggers", blog daily. They offer something new and exciting to their readers every single day. I find this both terrifying and exhilarating. Could I be a real blogger? Do I have what it takes? Do I have the potential to be one of those people who put something new into the blogosphere every single day? The mere thought gives me a jolt of excitement. That sort of diligent work could lead to greater understanding, introspection, and if God loves me, intelligent thought. Wow. That'd be sweet. But wait...it could also lead to failure, or at least the feelings of inadequacy that accompany missed deadlines and unused opportunities. I don't think this can be decided right now. I'll get back to you on whether I decide to be a "real blogger" or not.
- Sometimes it's the really simple concepts that we forget. A few Sundays ago, I was on the phone with a friend who moved to London, who happens to also be an artist. We continued a discussion we've been having for years about how little time we have to paint. She then reminded me of the idea that art-making doesn't stop. An artist, makes art wherever he goes. I don't mean this in the hippy-dippy creativity touches everything way. I mean that when we have work in process and we think about it while driving to work, or we stop to buy a new kind of paint to use in an upcoming piece, we're still working. Every time I go into my studio and look at a painting, and decide what is or is not working, I'm an artist. Every time I walk into a museum and feel that kinship that a painter feels when he looks at the work of those giants who's shoulders he stands on, I'm an artist. Every time I spend more money that I should at Pearl or Blick, I'm an artist. That's reassuring in a sense. Sometimes it feels more lost than that. Like the pencil you couldn't find when it was right behind your ear.
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