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After keeping the spittoon notebook for eight or nine years, I occasionally have to ask myself why it works. I don't think of myself as regimented or disciplined. Why do I continue to value it and keep it as a fixture in my life? Why do I feel like oxygen has been removed from my life if I miss a day of writing? Because it has. The writing is a way of breathing insight, awareness, and contemplation into the start of my day.
Perhaps I have kept the notebook alive because I have no major expectations except my initial one; to get the words in my head down on paper. I write because I love the hour sitting in my chair, illuminated by the north-window light, facing my favorite cottage on my street. It's the brightest room in the house. It's also the coldest room in the house in winter; I just wrap myself in a blanket. This writing is about openness, allowing for anything to cross the page, an attitude necessary for me to also make paintings and drawings, but much harder for me to achieve there. I write because having had thirty years of therapy didn't help me the way the notebook does!
How did this habit become ritual, become a reliable best friend? How can I have this relationship with painting? I have a good relationship with practicing and performing on my horn. It seems that with painting I have to dismantle deep-rooted expectations and attitudes I learned, starting at age seven. Ultimately I wanted to be a famous artist so my parents and relatives would love me. I have to dismantle this burden, lighten the load, keep my creative dreams within reach. What else is life for, vacations? Accumulating money?
May we all be able to do something creative for no practical reason, and do it every day for eight years!
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3 comments:
IT´S A PLEASURE TO READ WHAT YOU WRITE, EMILY.
RENATA, FROM BRAZIL
Emily,
It is so wonderful that you peel layers of yourself away by asking hard questions, and you're always thinking about what is important. You must be one of the purest people on earth just because you are always cleaning yourself out.
-Chelsea, NC.
I have to dismantle deep-rooted expectations and attitudes I learned, starting at age seven. Ultimately I wanted to be a famous artist so my parents and relatives would love me. I have to dismantle this burden, lighten the load, keep my creative dreams within reach. What else is life for, vacations? Accumulating money?
You (the collective you) do the best you can. It's all anyone can ask or expect. Still, old expectations linger, whether set by parents or ourselves. They never really go away. I think that's why so many people drink.
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