I’ve been craving to create. To make something. To put paint to paper. To draw something other than a stick figure princess, a dino or a house with flowers and two snakes. To collage. To assemble a sculpture out of the massive amount of coloring that comes home with my 3 year old every day. But I don’t. As soon as I feel the urge, this voice inside erupts out of no where, “What’s the point?” “Why create something that will take up space in a house that already feels like it’s exploding, for no one to see, for no message to be shared?” “Why make another mess just to make something we don’t need and will just live in a cabinet somewhere?” “What’s the point?” And so I stop myself before I even begin. And it hurts.
I don’t like the hurt. I’m already doing and making so much with Charlie that I’ve started to ask myself as we color or paint, “Is this art?” “Is this drawing of hearts and stars prescribed by my daughter art? Is this painting on a $3 canvas from Target art? Is this doodle Art?” If it’s not, can I make it art? Can I say this project right in front of me is art? Will I feel differently if it is?
I’m going to explore asking these questions every time I’m drawing, painting and making with Charlie. And I’ll report back.