It is painful, this point at which I find myself.
Nothing has a more evil, pointed stare than a blank canvas or page. I stare at it. It stares at me. One of us has to blink; unfortunately, today it is me. I am an old artist. Old in that I have faced this blankness many, many times in the course of my life, and it never gets any better. It is a terrible thing to be on the other side of inspiration; the dark side; the empty side. I want the light, but it eludes me. When I started this venture–to make an image–I had an idea in mind. I really did. But once the canvas was prepped, the idea became as blank as the space in front of me. How agonizing it is. Like catching fog in my hands.
My friend stopped by accidentally in the midst of my struggle and gave me great advice (many thanks, Lisa). As a college art prof she is always doing this–getting her students to fill the blankness–and by simply telling me a story she shook my tree and got me thinking about this in a different way. A simpler, back-to-my-art-roots way.
So, now I am drawing. Drawing & journaling; making marks. Maybe soon I will compose something that needs to fill that blankness. The agony has abated for the moment, but it has served its purpose….on I go.