The world is very vocal this morning, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard the crows so noisy, definitely something happening in their woods. I keep looking to see if there is an eagle or some other big bird but nothing out of the ordinary except the very thick fog.
I’ve nearly finished this leaf-printed book that I started last year. Filling it with a few sketches but mostly words. My intention, after I filled this was that it would then evolve into the next thing, adding cloth somehow and then adding beeswax at the very end symbolic of this circle of life, as well as the cycle of creativity that I’ve so closely witnessed in the past year or two.
I’ve been trying to figure out how art and the world that seems so closely tied, began to scare me? I think that the power of art and not really understanding how to wield that power was what really did me in and ultimately made step away from my encaustic art. The feelings that I would feel while painting, usually in love with something/one, would seem to manifest as some violent experience in the outside world. The universe seemed to say you can’t go there without punishment so I stopped going there, even though that brought me much joy at one time, the price seemed too high. Writing and stitching seemed gentler and without injuring those on the outside world. I know this is a lot of me just throwing up thoughts, I usually write things down on paper before blurting out on the blog but oh well. Today feels different in a few ways I guess.