Difference between painting and writing is not a competition.
Creativity is not a momentary event. One is either hard-wired for it, or not. Some spend their lives attempting to jump into the pool. Others their lives are art 28/9. Passion is certainly an impetus. Personally, after many moon tides on the planet, I experience writing to be the utmost consumer of the dinky pool I wade around in.
Painting use to enliven me, yet I continued to write as a recess activity. Today, writing does not allow for painting. Writing is a task master like no other pursuit, at least for moi. Maybe it is the age (the world’s and mine), i dunno.
Painting feels like hard work constantly shaking my hands to wakeup them up in the moment so intensely time and space disappear. Writing is fun yet time, space, ego, and synchronicity are flowing along a river. I can take my brain along with me evaluating and diving through hoops of analysis and/or sit in the stern of the boat and cloud watch. Also, the more I write the easier it becomes. This is why I say i am more scribe than writer as understood by the intuit readership.
When i write I continue to be in touch with the world of bird notes, flower scents, breezes tousling my hair, and my heart. Painting took these sensibilities away as if i was in a 20 foot long container aboard a ship with no course laid in. Editing is part of the structure of writing and requires an inner trained critic of style, taste, and mechanics. After finishing a painting it became a child of mine, difficult to let go. Writings are neither kids nor extensions of an ego derived sport. Writings take wing on their own to either haunt ten years later with, ‘Ya, gotta be kidding, i wrote that,’ or they integrate into a personal vernacular as a portfolio of observations.
Ripples in space may portend the big ban theory. Writing is its own astrology. I suppose musicians and other creatives would rise to their particular allegiance to their medium. Here at my blog, Fedbook, and my tweets, are my daily gymnastics yet with no disco music banging away to make me burn the fat off my identity.
This is my journal – a legacy in cyber space serving an odd contamination of you and me. For those who regularly take a spin over this intersection, my galactic sized thank you.
Yesterday, someone chatted i am an inspiration. Now, this loverly person could say this to everyone, like I would say, hi, how ya doin’? For the sake of this post let’s assume the comment is factual. Inspiration, creativity, actualization of passion, interconnectivity, fishing for icons in the collective unconscious, mucking around in human current events velcro’d to a matrix bubble, or simply sitting here on my veranda keyboarding the latest from some other realm feeds the soul.