Today I spent some time burning a white oak log I carved before we left for 6 months. It’s part of a sculpture I had wanted to finish, but couldn’t think of the solution before our departure. So I let it rest. And on our trip I got inspired and excited about the next step. And as I worked today to evenly turn the surface black, I thought about how curious life is and that this is, in my mind, an important way to spend my time. With the backdrop of “time is money,” is this an act of rebellion? Is it a waste? I’ve been trying to establish a meditation practice, and burning the wood did feel meditative. I had to have patience. I observed at what point the heat reacted with the tree fibers to result in a beautifully shiny finish, right before it turns to ash; the way it looked when I encountered burned forests while on the road. Does that justify it?
At this time when I feel immense pressure to find a new job and earn some dollars, being an artist feels somewhat ridiculous. What am I going to do with these things that I’ve made? I am so grateful to everyone that has traded me $$ for my work so far, but it is a very distant thought when I’m making most of my work. The difficulty of managing my trained mind, to ask it to step aside and for just one moment, let myself get carried away by something, has been difficult since I arrived back in Philadelphia. “Don’t worry about the why, or the how, or whether people will pay you for these things.” If I am able to glimpse that freedom for a moment, I am lucky.
When I was teaching, it offered some balance. If I was making a consistent paycheck somewhere else, I could allow this kind of indulgence in my artwork. I am determined to protect my time designated for exploration and play, but oh how the demons dance in my mind, taunting me in this strange life path I have chosen.