Oh god, I want to create new work so badly. I need to begin, but each day something stands between me and the thing I need to create. It is the house. It is the factory. It is everything that needs doing. But mostly, I guess, it is me. I am old and lazy and worn.
But tonight I went to a Greek place to get a half chicken and a large Greek salad. I had skipped the gym and was just too tired to cook. The girl who took my order said, "Are you a photographer?"
Uh-oh.
"Oh, well. . . I take pictures sometime. . . er. . . ."
"I thought so. You took photos of me. You did old Polaroids."
My mind was racing. I couldn't place her at all.
"Oh. . . that must have been, what--six years ago. . . ."
"They were beautiful things," she said. And then I began to remember her. She had changed her hair color and style, and she had "matured" so to speak.
Beautiful things.
Yes, I made beautiful things. I want to make them again.
But I still have not dealt with the boxes of stuff I took from the studio. I have done nothing but work since the year began.
There is a storm coming tomorrow they say. Sever storm warnings. I can only hope not. I have trees that are dangerous. They must be cut. I will worry all night long. I have an early meeting at the factory in the morning, so when the worst of it hits, I will not be home.
There are so many things to do other than make beautiful pictures. You need to be a selfish person to do such things. You cannot care about things other people hold as important.
Or. . . you must be alone (which is really much the same thing).
I write this tonight for I will have no time tomorrow. Tonight there is wine and roasted chicken and Greek salad waiting for me. I should make some art, but I won't. I will be in bed soon enough, safe and guarded from the world of art.
Maybe the day after. Or the day after that. But for now, it is important to fill the belly.
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