I'm still waiting for all my art supplies to arrive in the US from Australia. Four months is a long time to be separated from my tools of trade and I feel like my patience is wearing thin. I can barely contain myself from browsing art stores and restocking my stash.
I am obsessed with art and creativity. I know this because it is sometimes like an addiction...if I don't get my fix of creating, I get crabby and discombobulated.
I have to run my hands over a sketchbook very often. I need to roll a paintbrush over the page, or clutch my watercolor pencils and scribble or I become breathless and dizzy with frustration. It sounds corny to many of you I know, but it is my reality, it's who I am, and I wouldn't change it for the world.
Not all my art-fixes are pleasing, sometimes they are down and dirty and destined for the garbage bin. They are nasty scribbles or splashes that are done purely to satisfy an uncontrollable, and sometimes monstrous urge.
Thank goodness for sketchbooks, places to just privately indulge, to get a creative fix, to explore, or to express, then to hide away on a book shelf, anonymous to the onlooker.
There is something about the pages of sketchbook, the possibilities it holds, the privacy it promises that completely consumes me.
I love cracking open a new sketchbook and sitting with the purity and innocence of it for a bit, daydreaming about my upcoming journey through it's pages, visualizing the many moments of pleasure and obsession soon to be mine.
I live out my creative fantasies on the pages of my sketchbooks, I savor each pending rush of laying down colors and symbols that mostly mean nothing to anybody but me.
Closing a sketchbook that has been filled is bitter sweet, and happens so often for someone as obsessed as me. I love to sneak peeks into its pages over time and view my own artistic evolution. I honor all the experiences I have had as a result of the process, I remember the places I have been that are indelibly ingrained in the book.
But it is never the finished pages that are meaningful or important, with art there is no true destination. There is no attachment to a finished work, it is only the process of creating that holds the key to satisfaction..a satisfaction that is always short-lived and never truly attained.
Fully embracing the process rather than the result is true artistic enlightenment.
Thanks for checking in. xx