It’s been a minute since I sat down at this blog. I’d made an attempt a couple years ago to free up this space from burdening my friend’s server (although it’s been stressed that I’m not being a burden, but we’ve talked around this before). I’d attempted to move it to Squarespace with the dual purpose of also selling pottery and having my own corner of the internet like in the good old DSL days of running a server out of my bedroom. Like most things it just wasn’t at the right time or the right place, or frame of mind; some sort of excuse like that. I’ve stopped trying to define or understand. Things are–that’s all.
I had a brief moment where I made a Tumblr account so I could just scream into the void without worrying about composition or editing or even completeness. I got one post in and just turned my back. It seems I need to have a purpose for writing. Looking back on this neglected site I see so many unfinished drafts that had real potential, and yet somehow I never got around to doing anything, which, oddly enough, was kind of the theme for the one Tumblr post. I spent the last few years just trying to avoid writing altogether.
The avoidance was what has been triggering me lately. I keep remembering I write to understand what I’m thinking or feeling, even when I don’t realize that what I’m thinking or feeling needs understanding. So here I am again dealing with the crosswinds of fate with a general lack of understanding and trying to forge ahead without knowing where I’m pointed. I need a star to guide me and I’m falling back to prattling on here.
Oddly enough (and I hear my dad asking me how odd does something have to be to be odd enough) thinking about writing again let me to the Tumblr post, which I’ll share below for some reason unbeknownst to me, but it seems oddly appropriate in my current state of mind.
From Tumbler sometime circa 2018 or so:
Today
I needed to accomplish things today. There were attempts, and progress was made, but not enough. I lacked focus and was easily diverted by too many tasks competing for attention.
I went from mixing glazes, to taking inventory, to destroying the hopelessly useless pieces languishing on the too crowded shelves. Then back to glazing, to trimming, to cleaning. Never quite finishing before allowing myself to be drawn off by some perceived need.
It was all I could do to not break down and build a cabinet for the sink I scavenged from the remodel at work. A sink, for which there will soon not be water when the danger of freezing pipes arrives.
I suspect that the underlying issue is not being able to effectively envision the goal I need to be working towards. I need to take a road never before traveled, if not just less. And I can’t see beyond step B for the lack of a metaphorical Sherpa.
I like glazing with the crystalline glazes, and there’s a lifetime of exploration in just that, but I seem to need something more. I’m trying more sculptural forms, and that’s nice, but I’m still lacking something.
Maybe part of the psychoactive blockage is a constipation of purpose. I make. The work piles up. Very little of it passes beyond my studio. I do one sale a year, for which I’m madly prepping now. I’ve let the Etsy store fall into hibernation. It’s not that I crave validation. I’ve always felt that the act of making was fulfilling enough. I still feel that
Don’t I?
Sometimes it just seems that things are just playing on repeat. But I suppose action needs to be taken to make things change, and I’ve been coasting enough for several lifetimes.
I wonder if I’ll be able to stick with it.