Love weaves a fabric of many textures. It’s filled with the dark threads of pain and anger, and the harsh threads of hurt and resentment. Not all of it, but a good portion anyway. Along with these uncomfortable, difficult, unpleasant threads, there is also the light, silky softness of compassion and devotion, the strength of determination to find truth and beauty, and the boldness to seek and create order out of chaos. Together they form the textile I call my life. And my life forms my art.
SUMMARY PART 4
Being fully alive isn't easy. Living with disappointment and untangling misconceptions is difficult. And although struggling with my inner life is more fruitful than surpressing it, I find myself, at times, longing for the simplicity of my buried life, when I believed the world would open it's riches simply being good and waiting. Then I shelve the longing.
My life is mirrored in my creative process. I start with an image. It either works or its doesn't. If is doesn't, I rub it out. I work over it, erase it, work again, erase again, work, erase, work, erase. . Each time an imprint of the previous effort is left behind. With each imprint comes new trials and errors, interacting and building on the effects of its predessor. Eventually I feel the pulse of the artwork and I know I am finished.
And so it is with my life. Each experience leaves its imprint. These imprints act as guides to a path. If the path has a heart then I follow. If there is no heart then it's time to redirect. Indeed, a path is only a path and as long it has a heart it is worth living — even if it is a struggle to find its pulse.
