I feel my best when I am consumed in my work.
Whether it be sculpting or paint. Sometimes I can spend weeks, if not months consumed with thoughts of images and stories, all in a frenzy and panic to dictate to canvas before the moment passes. During those days in The Studio, I experience the real me. I am at peace. Even if I can not truly focus or much less function in the "real" world. None the less. It is when I am at my best.
Then the frenzy passes. And I am left like an addict, searching for the next inspiration. Often depression and apathy set in that can hinder the next process from developing.
Over the years I've learned to adapt to this process and handle it. For a time, I would just continue working. Even if it wasn't work up to par with what I would be happy with. It kept me fresh. Kept the mind going.
The last couple of years this has been a problem for me. My mind has been building the barriers of depression again. The cold demon that spits self loathing and doubt into my ears returns. Making it harder to start work again.
I sit and I reflect.
I try to stay calm and relax. To simply just enjoy my time between my creative spurts.
But this is something that has always been a difficulty for me. My mind wanders. Travels faster than light. Voices and conversations chatter and ramble in my mind. Often in tounges I dont understand or so distant that I only hear the muffled syllables of their gossip.
I try to just keep on working like I once had the luxury of doing - but now it seems not to work. As if my hands forget how to even hold a brush.
And then I remember it's all in my mind.
And I have forgotten the most important creed in life:
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