i miss my art.
miss it bad.
like a dear old friend has left, never to return again.
my passion is to throw myself into the obsession of the moment.
that's been me always.
i find something of interest. the interest grows. i obsess. i research, read and suck the marrow out of it and then i move on.
was that my art? was art so involved that it took from adolescence to adulthood to suck the marrow out?
i hope that's not true.
i think the obsession of my children has consumed me and will likely not let up. ever. no marrow to suck out. no end. a never-ending obsession. full of pleasure.
i think i must make room for art in my now busy life.
i feel something missing.
i feel it's my art.
i feel a need for release.
i feel a need for creation.
...and it's coming. soon. with fervor and force. an explosion of ignored creativity suddenly released.
i feel it roiling under the surface. the creativity is there.
it's time to create...
if i could only find the time.