Right off, I have to consider the possibility that I am mired in depression. I take my meds, but it is SO hard to get out of bed in the morning, and engaging with anybody other than my dogs leaves me cranky and exhausted. Maybe I am over serotinized? I asked my doctor and she was non-committal. "Just stay on this dose and we'll check again in a few months."
It could be the weather. It has been an unusually cold, wet, late spring in this part of the world, and I haven't been able to get into the garden, which always makes me feel better. I also haven't made another serious piece of work since December, although I have been busy with various small pieces and other projects. I have a new idea in the works, something different, that I am eager to get going on but it needs further gestation.
I have also been thinking about posting earlier work, looking at stuff from the 90's that has been languishing away on slides, and seeing how it connects to my current work. Using the blog more as a place of reflection and documentation rather than showcasing the latest new thing. (The taste for "new" is so wearying.)
But it is hard to take the possible value of my own work seriously when the world is in flames. We are closer to nuclear midnight than we ever have been since the clock started. Climate change is real, accelerating and the evidence is all around us. There is a vain, arrogant, madman in the White House. How is is possible to carry on as if things are normal? As an artist, I have always felt a responsibility to engage with the world around me, but now I find myself questioning whether anything I can make or do will change anything, even in myself. And is spending hundreds of hours patiently handstitching something that could get blown up next week the best use of my time? Is it an act of resistance or blind stupidity?
I am sure I am not the only one who feels this way. Banding together with other bleak souls doesn't seem like the answer. Beauty is all around me but I mourn for its fleetingness and vulnerability. I long for peace, both for the world and in my heart.
|Heron at dusk on Thetis Island last weekend. He turned and flew away seconds later.|