A.A.

Originally Posted Sunday, March 2, 2014

I read this on Ellen Rogers' Blog yesterday:

I spend most if not all my time working on my photography, almost every minute I'm awake is used to feed my addiction to making artwork.To the point that I feel mechanical, void of friends and quite often, meaningful interaction.If I'm not in the darkroom I'm answering emails pertaining to my work, defending my work, working on post production, scanning, planning a shoot, traveling to a shoot, etc. I don't do anything else.

 Ditto.  Except I have the factory, too.  She, to be fair, must make her living from her work which must be a little torture in and of itself.  No, not little.  It must be big.  Are there days when she collapses and thinks, "I'm done.  I'm going to get a job."?  Certainly there are. 

There are days when I want to quit doing this, quit making pictures and writing and simply go back to a life of. . . hell, I don't remember what.  I am busy all the time to the point of exhaustion and I don't keep up with many friends, but the people I meet and the things I've learned from them are profoundly great experiences.  And the culmination of it, the words and the images, make me happy.  But something more than "happy," too. 

I wonder if I would do more and better if I could spend "every minute I'm awake. . . to feed my addiction to making artwork."  I think so. 

Today is Sunday and I wonder if I will take the day to relax. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and the air is soft and sweet.  I walked yesterday for the first time in three weeks (no gym, no exercise--nothing), and I will do that and some other small exercises today as I begin my trek back to health and well-being.  It will take time, and I have gotten used to being ill and sitting with my images working them into something that I more or less like.  I've even created some new practices that make the work a little richer, I think.  Will I be willing to stay away from that today?  Rogers' words sit on my back like a saddle. 

It is too nice not to go and play, though.  I will do it now.  Health and happiness must be our first goal, right?  But William Vollman has written so chronically that his whole body has become deformed by it.  Van Gogh went mad from the paints.  Matisse lay ill in his bed with a long pole brush so he could paint canvases on the ceiling.  It is like a drug, I think.  It is an addiction. 

Ellen, I will write you.  I will begin a new program--Artists Anonymous.  A.A.  It will be a support group to help wean you off the obsession.  I will send you my number.  Any time you begin to feel the need to start "using" again, you can call.  I will talk you down  It will help. 

O.K.  Sunshine and fresh air are calling.