Another post without pictures. My borrowed camera is taking a long trip to Montana with its owner, and what with one thing and another, including carelessness about my chemical sensitivities which led me to an ear infection and fatigue, I haven't pulled it together with my husband to get pictures with his phone of the few ornaments I've done.
But I've been doing some sketching and thinking long thoughts. I've been taking note lately of my fear of drawing, my fear that this time I won't be able to do it, that my art was all just a fluke. I think this fear might be universal, or maybe it's only universal among us fake artists. (Just kidding.) The thing about art that is so scary is that you can't control it into existence, like you can maybe control an orderly kitchen into existence. An artist is pursuing something, collaborating with something, dancing with something that is bigger than himself. An artist is more like a surfer than a typist, more like a tightrope walker than an accountant. The control that an artist can develop is a dynamic, responsive control that enlarges the artist and in no way diminishes the meaning, beauty and holiness that the artist is trying to engage with and express. When I forget this and try to anxiously control an image into existence my art diminishes rather than grows.
So I'm making sure I'm sketching more, especially that I'm sketching things I fear that I will draw badly. I'm sketching badly and moving on to the next sketch. I read in Danny Gregory's blog an encouraging insight: bad drawings are the grandparents of good drawings. I can't give a link, because I don't want to learn how (how's that for truth in advertising?) but you can just Google his name. That's what I do. He's very encouraging.