Day after day I stand at my easel painting the paintings that must be painted. I also stand before a north-facing window 8 feet high by 10 feet wide that allows light into the studio. To rest my eyes from the intensive, close-proximity work of the painting I gaze through that window so as to allow my eyes to refocus on the surrounding environment at different distances and depths, and in so doing I am a constant observer of that environment. One prevailing realization has come to mind as a result. There is a relentless, brutal, emotionless character to the cycle of nature. Day follows mercilessly after day…season after season. The maple in my backyard sheds its canopy of leaves and grows it back and sheds many thousands of spinners only to have none of its progeny develop. Wash…rinse…repeat.
Why do I mention all this now. Yesterday I finished a painting that had been the object of my attention for 3/4 of a year. Today, I observed the Lord’s Day. Tomorrow, I will stand in front of an empty canvas with all the dread that this represents, and I will be asked by the creative urge to begin again…to conceive and create anew…from nothing bringing forth something. And that urge cares not that I just finished another painting and feel the need to refresh the reservoir of possibilities…that I don’t have another idea worth 9 months of effort. It demands like hunger demands or thirst.
So, tomorrow I begin again.