So you know painters. And you know writers. How many people do you know who do both?
As if being one or the other isn't crazy enough. Those of us who go from hiding with our laptop to hiding in the art studio and then back again --
So I'm not great at balancing the two things I do. I either
I rarely do both in one day. I haven't figured out why yet.
Maybe it's because I spent a lot of my time in school trying to be one or the other. When I would go to writing classes, I felt like a fraud. "No no, don't mind me. I'm not really an artist in disguise." Then I would have to go my illustration department head and ask for time to attend writing conferences. Oh, the cockeyed looks I would get.
Imagine trying to write a story that is four hundred pages long.
Imagine trying to put together a thirty-five piece gallery show.
Now imagine being someone who does both of those things.
I know. Ping-ponging back and forth like some kind of manic superball. I step away from a day at the easel and wish I would have written. Or I fold up my laptop and think, "I should have been painting."
Balance is difficult.
I get tired. I get isolated. I forget what outside smells like.
I worry that the creative well spring will run dry.
I sometimes feel like creativity is a slave driver, and I wonder if it would be better not to be creative at all.
I have a hard time getting out of bed sometimes.
I think that I'll languish in obscurity forever.
I wonder if this is as good as it gets.
I worry that I'm just caught in a chain of events that will all end in tears.
And then sometimes I wake up and I can't wait to work on pages
or go to the easel
or draw something.
Sometimes I look at something I've made and I'm like
I wish every day could be like that.
Maybe if I can just learn to own that I'm not just an artist. And I'm not just a writer. I'm that insane-craziness-blend of both. Maybe then I can learn balance.
Or maybe not.