a sloppy hand.

I have never known if I am ambitious enough to be an artist. Actually, I don’t know what artist means in the context of my life. I am less interested in giving myself over to an art form. I am more interested in giving myself over to life and letting the art-making-process permeate my life.

This is the reason that sometimes I struggle to say, I am a writer. I feel a little more comfortable with, I am a person who writes. The distinctions and minutiae that make sense in my head usually exist only in my head. I need someone to break the spell.

A side-effect of writing less is that everything seems less legitimate and less interesting. If I don’t write much, it seems like I probably don’t have claims to write anything. Writing regularly doesn’t necessarily mean you’re better, it just means you have dulled the nerves that cringe at the ego-centrism of writing. These may be cringing nerves that are mine alone, because I’ve never really liked much attention.

Coasting is easier, it is always easier. It is a good way to lose yourself and to lose the things that anchor you to life, your life, the life that is and will always be yours alone. The one.

In every part of my life, I order things. I tidy up. I make lists. But sometimes I want to write with a sloppy hand. I don’t care very much if it makes sense. This is a practice in...in what? In release of control. In feeling the wildness of the world under my skin. It is a break from myself and my own instincts. Perhaps it doesn’t make for an interesting read. But maybe you know the feeling?

bright shining.

Most of the time I spend writing, I am trying to capture some beauty or hope that I’ve felt, something in a fleeting moment that I want desperately to share. I don’t know if I can even go so far as to call these feelings - they’re something a bit deeper and more instinctive.

It’s all wild and wrapped up in how the bright sun is shining in the alley - the white light and the red bricks and the blue sky.

I just love this blog so much. This lady has got a head like mine. Food is all woven into her observations on life. But most importantly, I don’t know how, but she captures that grain of a moment - the one that is filled up with beauty and longing and hopeful feathers. It’s a clarity of mind, of observation, of reflection. Whatever it is, it sings inside of me. This post reminded me.

Jacob told me the other night that he had been thinking about how important it is for a creative person to have someone behind them. When the work of a creative person lives so much in the head, it’s invaluable to have someone who loves you unconditionally and really believes in you. It’s powerful to have someone believe that you’re capable of making great art. It is one thing to talk all abstract about what it means to be an artist. It is another to really figure out what it means - what it means in life, real life, the life where you pay bills and eat food and forge relationships.