Beggar at the Feast

The Soft Gooey Center

Last week was another very good week. Two particularly good things happened that really had, and still have, my creativity all keyed up. The first was an outing with my friend Robin to Ben Franklin. I bought a few art supplies, but I think what sparked me more was just being around all that creative stuff. Plus, Robin is a creative soul too, and just sitting and talking about our mutual artsy predilections had my fingers feeling dancy and aching for color.

The second thing was a huge box filled with all manner of art supplies. It landed on my doorstep courtesy of my dearest pal Laura. Opening it was... well... if this had been a movie, I would have been a young boy finally receiving a Red Ryder BB Gun. The box held two totes full of dozens of rubber stamps, paints, brushes, etc. I was overcome and undone.

Most importantly, the box held freedom. It held acres for my wandering imagination. Acres? Try worlds. No, try a whole Universe or two. I've had so many ideas in my head and not quite the right tools to implement them all. Between my excursion with Robin and the box from Laura, I'm more than geared up for the journey.

And what a journey it's been already! I didn't just jump into the vortex... I dived! I can't get enough. The ideas just keep building. It feels.... it feels... volcanic in terms of size and ability. It's as though everything I've been experiencing this past year has been mere rumblings and the real activity is just about to start. I'm excited, more excited than I've ever been about anything.

Do I know where it's taking me? Oh, no. Does it matter? Not a bit. This is one journey that is absolutely and only about the ride. Where it takes me, at least at this point, is irrelevant. All I know is this:

• I will never again look at things without it being a view toward something artistic, whether it ends up becoming art or coming out in art. My "eye" has changed.
• Everything, and I mean everything, around me is alive and humming with color and shape
• Everything has a face of some sort. I don't know if this happens to other artists, but I've noticed it becoming more prevalent with me the past few months. I see faces in everything, everywhere... eyes, mouths, hair... they're everywhere. They're in the woodgrain of the desk, in the configuration of leaves on the trees, in the nap of the carpet and the oil slick on the pavement. Everywhere.
• I'm so much more me than I've ever been. I've found my muchness.
• It's pretty damned amazing when every day feels like the best sex you've ever had, whether or not there's anything physically sexual going on.

This is good, folks. This is my life at a fine place. I may be a beggar at the feast, but oh... oh oh oh... what a fine feast it is.