January is a cold month. Dark. It feels as though my creativity and energy is also coming and going along with the rise of fall of the mercury in the thermometer.
I talk all the time about doing the work that is needed if you want to be an artist. I have enough deadlines and enough children that I certainly have no time to sit around doing nothing.
Nevertheless – there is something to be said for resting. There is a time to voraciously research, to intensely experiment, to stolidly slog along. But there is also time for resting. For filling the well. For letting the subconscious do the work. What I long for right now is a quiet space. Some place overlooking water or a valley – with a fireplace. And probably a book and mug of hot cocoa.
–The Wind in the Willows, 1908……when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea. (Kenneth Grahame)
I am trying to steal time here and there to rest. To recharge. To be quiet and listen. To BE.