I’ve had a profound realization recently. At least, for me.

That is, that I have not had a single profound thing to say in all the art I’ve made – I don’t know that I can condense any of it to something immediate, or cohesive.

There have been moments, or sayings, or phrases that may have presented some cleverness. But I don’t know whom I’ve moved to tears, or if that’s even the testament to profound thought in the first place.

And in the end, no matter how profound one’s thought, if the issue of the thought doesn’t clarify it by expression, then it’s useless.

For instance, “the lizard who stays in the shade will never know the pleasing sun to warm his blood,” or something like that, does nothing for me if it doesn’t somehow mean something other than just what it says.

How do we apply the simpler beauty in this written word to the grave, hoary, shining life we lead in this decayed age? And, more importantly, what else is there to witness?

If there’s someone out there with a newness about them, a kind of small opening in candor that enables them to extract some mineral truth from the deep parts of their brains, – the parts rich with humus, or at least the smell of it, – if you’re out there, speak up. Nice and loud so I can hear you. My hearing seems to be going.

I don’t like to be pessimistic, and I dislike even more that I am another cliche. Far too many artists complain about a block, or the disciplined dilemma of integrity. But I grow tired of trying to convince myself that I function somewhere outside the reach of this dilemma. I do not.

And that does not make me an ineffective artist. But it does frustrate me.

Perhaps I should not have eaten that egg roll and slice of pie earlier.

Got me thinking.

Journal Comments

  • Juilee  Pryor