I was having a challenging morning today… anxious, insecure, all out of sorts for no obvious reason. My meditation was a riot, thinking about taxes and the garage renovation, and so I cut it short by four minutes and felt relatively successful with that. At the studio, I disappeared into the new painting, which for all intents and purposes might as well have been drugs. Not really, but as my mind was decoding my mood, there was a definite escapism present in the practice of painting today. It’s often there, but not always so blatant as it seemed today. How often to I use painting to distract myself from other pressing issues in my life? It might certainly be an addiction, and I must return to considering my powerlessness and how it all works (or doesn’t work) in my life.
Like plate tectonics, there is always shifting under the surface, it’s most often just so subtle that it doesn’t register on the machine… but, then, in an instant, there’s a tremor then an earthquake to dramatically alter the landscape. Soldier on, y’all.