There was a time when my work spoke to me. And I spoke to it. I used to feel like I was merely revealing the characters, and they gently (and sometimes not so gently) gave me the reign to reveal them to the world. Presently, my rememberance of how I used to feel is similar to the memory of when I used to exercise. I actually remember both very well. Interestingly, at the height of the feeling, the feelings are very similar. Both activities left me great memories and very natural highs. I remember well the ecstacy of being fully creative. That was before time wore away at my goals and dreams, and left me out of shape and out of sense of my own being. Still, the rememberance burns so bright I thirst for more.
To this effect, now that my initial goals of employment have been satisfied, I was beginning to draw again for a week or two. It was going well, but I hit several 15 hour days in my job, and more than my share of 11 hour days, and I was temporarily thwarted in my goals. As I had just begun my conversation with my art again in a more serious manner, this dampened my output. However, I am not giving in. If life has taught me anything, the spoils of life go to the bold. Sketching has resumed! I will keep talking to my work until it talks back to me again as it once did. Actually, strike that statement. I don’t want to re-create the past. I want to surpass it, adding to it the wisdom of my years and then make my art something significant and wondrous. I want to get to the point where the conversation is so engrossing to me and I can communicate the very essence of the worlds I have created.
And now off to sketching!