Maybe you’ve experienced this frustrating part of the process— a million things going through your mind but not one good thing to say?
For the past hour I have been sitting on, lying across and draping over the edge of my bed. It feels pretty unproductive, but I force myself to to stay put. I’ve got two tall stacks of art books within arm’s reach but I will myself to leave them where they are. I’ve looked through them enough to know that original ideas—my own unique perspective—is not to be found in the bound volumes of photographs and artworks I love so much.
I turn off the music because today it is distracting.
I try not to shut my eyes for fear of falling asleep, but it happens anyway, which is ok because sometimes I see better with my eyes closed.
A notebook, a pen, pages of scribbled thoughts, barely decipherable notes and so many blank pages…
There is value in reading and looking at other peoples’ artwork, in studying philosophy, in paying attention to current events, and yes, even in scrolling through Instagram, but that is all input to be consumed and digested, and ART is about the output.
It has taken me years to discover (re-discover?) the forgotten benefits of being alone… in silence… thinking.
It takes patience and willpower to be still.
It’s been an hour, and I’ve had thousands of thoughts. I wrote down one.