The other day I sat down and had a little talk with my buddy Rotring Rapidograph. It was well received, and after about 40 minutes of gentle persuasion, he finally gave in and decided to stop being so damn stubborn.
And so with a pen that was once again in working order, after previously thinking it was in need of major surgery for the last 5 months, I anxiously began lugging my paper scraps, inks and tools up the stairs and to the kitchen table. I think we've talked about the patience I have for my studio before...it's in the basement and I cannot, for the life of me, work in the basement during the day. And to be honest, I can't work down there at night either. I tried to like it, but it's just not working out for me right now. And so, the kitchen table is usually where I end up.
The process of clipping and shuffling and staring and feeling soon took over my Wednesday afternoon. I had forgotten how much pleasure I get out of working on new pieces...it's as if I step over into a different world. It kind of reminds me of disappearing into one of those warp tunnels in Mario. Pretty awesome.
But, there is just one small dilemma with this secret world I visit. The obstacle of coming out of it before I'm ready is a bit of a drag...it's like, once I'm in I have to stay there until I run into a hurdle that's too high to jump, or else I end up resenting the things in life that are pulling me away. Work, appointments, house guests. You know, commitments. The idea of a vacation sounds more and more appealing.
When it comes down to it, however, it's this creative escape I should be thankful for. I shouldn't look at the other things like they are such hindrances. I mean, they kind of are, but it's those very challenges that make the process so gratifying, right? Right.
Anyway, my hope is that I can take a solo canoe trip this summer, down the Wisconsin River, and haul all of my art stuff with me. I'll let you know how it goes. For now I have to wait for warmer weather so much inks don't freeze.