June 15, 2010

I bought a new journal yesterday.  I have lots of them around.  Some filled with old words and funky pictures I clipped out of a magazines and glued on the pages.  Others just empty, like I had the inclination to write, yet nothing ever happened.  I also have sketch books that are similar in whether the pages are filled or not.  Always good intentions, not the best of follow through, at times.

THIS time, however, I intend to write.  Probably completely different stuff than what I write here, for it will be with the notion that I will be the only one reading it.  I noticed that they don’t make them with those little keys anymore (at least not the grown up kind).  I’m pretty sure my sister and I had diaries where the keys were interchangeable.  We were snotty little brats one time and read each others’ words, unbeknownst to the other (until later when it was revealed in a ‘not so pretty’ way).  Kids can be mean.

I want to write about what trips me up in the process of making art in this current environment.  I want to write about my worries of lack.  I want to write out *all* my negative self talk and inner demons and watch them disappear as if I were using disappearing ink with which to write.  Cathartic measures, perhaps??  Surely writing and drawing such things can be a useful endeavor?  A cleansing endeavor?  I hope so.

Maybe if I do this and I stick with it, I’ll so empty myself of all things negative that there will be room for more light.  More art.  More motivation.  More power…more me.  Maybe I’ll be so light filled that I’ll just poof away like a dust mote…

Or maybe in a year from now, I won’t just have another empty journal laying around…


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