Every so often (more often than I’d like) I feel rumblings under my feet. It happens whenever there is a change, either in weather, seasons, or schedule–as in work or holidays. They seem to affect me creatively, as if seismic shifts are occurring internally and I don’t yet know how these shifts will manifest themselves outwardly.
It can feel quite maddening really. The shifts occur most often in times when I cannot attend to them. They have to lie under the surface until a later time when life opens up a bit for me to tend to them and test the waters and see if its a direction I’d like to go in. If I don’t give them at least a little bit of play time above the surface, they can easily begin to convince me that what I really need is an overhaul of mammoth proportions. When I’m unable to drop down on my hands and knees to work out these creative shifts, I begin to imagine myself standing in line at the airport for a one way ticket to France, or heading out to fly a kite in the midst of a full on thunder storm. Not exactly. But you get the picture.
Someone once said to me, “Oh…you’re a restless soul.” This came from an acquaintance who had asked me what kind of art I did. My inability to pinpoint exactly what it was (rambling on about paintings and drawings and Genevieve and knitting and designs and…ugh!) seemed to call forth this explanation. I winced as she said it, wishing it wasn’t so, wanting to be the kind of artist who is settled in one thing, like “I’m a painter.” And that’s that. And I’m fully content in it. And it is my life’s work. Pish Posh. Not me. I keep thinking it’s supposed to be me. And it hasn’t happened yet.
There are times when I glory in this multi-faceted, creatively restless self. Other times not so much. It can feel painful. I recognize the signs earlier now and so I can weather the shift better than I used to. The key is to keep on creating. Doesn’t matter what it is. Just keep going, letting myself explore and dabble, reminding myself that one day soon, I’ll be able to give more time to whatever new is rumbling underfoot. Sometimes the rumblings peter out and die before they’re even given wings. Sometimes, in giving them a go, I find that’s not quite it, or I’m led to something else. Sometimes, when I begin to give the creative shift a bit of air time, it takes off and I discover a new love. One never knows.
Until such a time (when the Art Show is over:), I’ll continue caring for my restless creative soul by allowing it a bit of play each day, even if it’s only for few minutes.