Up since four with a case of. . . I don't know. Despair? Desperation? Disillusionment? I seem to be stuck in the "Ds". I just think my life is going nowhere and it is disturbing. Another "D". I tried staying in bed but my mind wouldn't clear, so I got up, put on the coffee and read for a long time in Mann's book, "Art Work." I'm not sure that helped me. She makes a good point. Art is work, and as is often the case, the one who works hardest and longest succeeds. She is right, I think, that it is not always the one with the most talent. Lazy talent or distracted talent or wasted talent? Yea. . . we know where that goes.
I am stealing a good line from the book, though: "To be creative you must be in touch with the forbidden." I am most curious about the forbidden. It is, probably, my greatest obsession.
But I have put that away always for love.
Mostly.
Which was the mistake?
This morning--can it be called morning?--lying in bed, it all seemed to be a mistake. More of the anxiety, though, had to do with wanting to make the most of my remaining life and knowing I am going to be spending my next years caring for my mother. And so. . . .
Selfish.
But, as always, I put away my obsessions in order to be dutiful.
Jeckyll, meet Hyde.
Mann talks about the pain of rejection being important in her creativity. She, obviously, powered through it. At times, she says, she thought about becoming an Emily Dickinson and keeping all her work to herself. She writes of feeling herself a failure.
Yea, yea, yea. The wisdom of those who succeed. But, as the song goes, "Can you have any famous last words if you're someone that nobody knows?"
You'd have to ask Vivian Meier that one.
I'm rambling. It is after six now. The digital news pages will have been refreshed. I'm pretty sure I have no interest, though. Perhaps I'll go back to bed and try to sleep.
Yea. . . there's a capital idea.
"But what of us who have all of the flaws and obsessions and desires of the artist. . . but none of the talent?"
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