6am here at Lost Coast Post and the day is still black, awaiting sunrise. Much-needed rain is steadily tapping out a soothing tune on my roof as I sit here at my Chromebook and create some tap-tap-tapping of my own on the keyboard. As is my custom, I've been up for about three hours now, slowly starting my day in the surrounding softness of the early morning hours. Lots to contemplate as many things seem to be crystallizing all at once in my life, like stars that wink into existence as a cloudy night sky clears.
I had a long interview with a local reporter yesterday about my work (particularly my journals but my paintings and sculptures as well) and it was very enlightening to see my many, bursting-at-the-seams journals processed by a stranger, someone unfamiliar both with myself and the art journaling movement. In the last couple of years, I made a conscious decision to set aside journaling for other things but before that, journaling had been a steady, anchoring practice of my artistic life. I haven't looked through those old journals in a long time so it was illuminating to thumb through them again and to see which pages attracted the reporter's eye. It was interesting to try and articulate what I felt about my journals and how they served me in life. It was even more challenging to speak to where I see myself going in the future.
I don't actively promote my work. It isn't something I'm comfortable with or skilled in and as result, I tend to simply keep my head down and focus on private artistic pursuits like journaling or illustration. I show my work in the community at least once but no more than three times a year. Here and there, via word-of-mouth, opportunities to launch myself beyond my apartment threshold come along. I almost always hesitate to follow those openings for reasons both known and unknown but I sense that the time is coming where I'll need to make a decision one way or the other. I am clinging to the quiet comfort of the status quo, mostly uncertain whether the reality of Parkinson's makes me more or less likely to pursue any fresh paths that appear before me. Sometimes I want to hold onto my quiet existence; sometimes I want to let go and rise up to greet the world knocking at my door: stay in my comfortable, predictable orbit or stretch out into the unknown. The impulse toward one option or the other varies each day. Indeed, I waver between the two choices within the days themselves. All in all, I think perhaps this is a dilemma best explored through art. That being said, I'll hit publish on this post and get to work. I have little time to lose.