I had such a wonderful day today. I started my day with a mixing bowl of soul-warming porridge and then I lifted some weights. I watched some Avatar - The Last Airbender and after lunch I posted a card through a letter box and went into town to meet an brilliant friend. The sun came out from behind the clouds and we stumbled across a celebration of Japanese culture. My friend sipped tea and I sipped coffee, and we watched some brilliant acts, caught up and had our faces tickled by the unexpected sunshine. I was beyond excited by it all and I could have stayed lost forever in the afternoon. Inspired, I went home with wasabi peas for my mother and encouraged her to play djembe with me in the garden until my rice had cooked. I made sushi (no raw fish friends, of course) and then baked banana and chocolate bread with another friend and watched some Marvel. I have forgotten to be creative at all lately. I have just been doing everything as quickly as possible to get to the next place I need to be. It was nice to take a day to be slightly more creative and to be humbled by the creativity of others.
It’s coming. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but I can feel it nearing. I’m about to spread my wings a little. Discover whether I am a kiwi bird or a seagull. Discover whether I am still that little girl with the thirst for adventure and the courage to persue it. I need to do this. I need to get out of my bubble. Not pop it. Just put it somewhere safe so that I can regain direct contact with the world again.
I spend too much time being afraid of the world outside.
I’m going to make fairy steps this time. I always aim too high. I need to find a place to start.
I dreamt I bought the cat sanctuary a couple of nights ago. I did it up and it was a wonderful place chock-a with happy cats and a happy Soph. Perhaps that’s where I’ll be :’)
There is a huge creative gap. I see life as an art project. A blank sketchbook is an exciting, yet daunting prospect. We try things, make mistakes, try new things, experience creative block and frustration. Art teachers will always tell us not to throw our work away, but to draw conclusions and carry them to the next page. There is always another page. I want my sketchbook to be filled with diversity.
I would like to approach life as a daring artist with passion. I want to hop around the globe carrying out random acts of kindness, meeting an array of characters and filling the pages of my life and a literal scrapbook.
I’m all talk at the moment, but it’s coming.
I got myself into a bit of a tizz last night. I bubble up like a pressure cooker sometimes. I then do impulsive things, but I’m working on doing things that are less catastrophic. I ate copious amounts of dark chocolate. No joy. I snipped random chunks out of my hair. Stopped. (Must make hair dressers appointment tomorrow…) I then lay on the floor for over 45 minutes, feeling my heart pulse + my body buzz with the whirring contents of my chaotic noodle.
The final outcome was that which is pictured. I barely remember doing it. I just grabbed charcoal, my least favourite medium, + scrawled it out. It’s nothing of quality, but today I observed the completely different nature of my creativity. Usually, my art is like surgery. Ridiculously precise. I use media which I can control + I won’t accept anything less than what I perceive as perfect. I never finish. I’m never happy. I never even create anymore, because nothing is good enough. This was so different. I just splurged. Random strokes. No pencil sketch to begin with. Impulsive.
I’m pretty chuffed, because I just leg go. I never let go.