It’s been too long coming, but it has come. The realization that I feared my art, thus the reason for not creating. There are circumstances beyond my control that contributed to stepping away from the art…and I no longer felt the solace that it had given me in the past during times of difficulty. For the first time in my life, I feared being alone with myself – which is the paramount requirement for making art, and yet turned away form the very people who could nurture and encourage and empower me. I walked away from my tribe because I no longer felt I belonged – and because I walked away, I did, in fact, no longer belong.

It’s a paradox, being an artist. Full of excitement of the beginning, love of the process,  the letting go. Then there’s the self-doubt, the beast that is always lurking, knowing the weakness, and waiting for the chance to exploit it. It is a constant struggle to keep this thing at bay, but it found an opening and ripped through, leaving me in a heap. There are not many things worse for a person’s sense of well-being than feeding the monster. But feed it I did, and fed it well…and it is an insatiable thing.

In short, I lost my direction, or in hindsight, I HAD no direction. Because of this, I began to self-destruct, and sabotaged myself at nearly every opportunity. I didn’t deserve the accomplishments and achievements, so set out to ensure there were no more. I wasn’t satisfied with my work, but couldn’t, or wouldn’t, sit down with myself or others and figure out why. This went beyond the cliche’ that to be satisfied meant stagnation – this was psychological immolation.

I lost my passion, and feared I’d never regain it, and so that vicious circle began. No passion meant no satisfaction with my work, which led to the lethargy, which killed the passion. Oh, there were hints of where I should be going, but instead, I set out to stifle my Nature – that of making things.

So I stopped.

And lost myself.

All this time, there were whisperings and rememberances…from an avocet I did, and a comment from a dear friend and fellow artist, Dan Burgette, who told me there was a femininity in that bird that I should embrace. Though there were flaws in the bird, there was a “something” that I had never, until that piece, achieved, and haven’t achieved since. It is clear now that it was because I was denying a style that wanted to emerge that conflicted with what I thought I should be producing, and couldn’t. It was this denial – no, betrayal – of what was inside that began the disconnect.

It wasn’t until I took this photo and saw it out of my camera that the path became clear, and the flame I thought had long since died was still smoldering…waiting for my breath. It not so much the subject of the photo, but the feeling of the photo. The enormity of the world around such a tiny creature, yet it’s serene, and comfortable in the world. My work lacked serenity…and femininity.

This is what I am meant to do.

Taking commissions was also a contributing factor in the stifling, in a way – do this bird, in this pose, in this setting. I feared the work, because I was not comfortable with the work – and dreaded producing something that, though the customer liked it, I felt was mediocre.

I have stopped taking commissions, and returned others – and not without much deserved bad blood. There needs to be time for the nurturing of this, and it needs to be done with pieces done for me…I think the rest will take care of itself.

I am excited to get back into the studio, and make it again the haven it once was. My demons are still with me, and it will not be an easy Journey, but I am ready to rejoin my people, if they’ll still have me.