Creating the things. I like to create things. Sadly, sometimes I create half-finished or un-finished things, more than complete things.
I even have a t-shirt that reads Weapons of Mass Creation (I wore it yesterday in fact) that shows things like a fountain pen, paint brush, pencil, crochet hook and knitting needles.
Sometimes, figuring out and focusing on the way that I want to create/make art/make things in the moment I’m feeling like making a thing is more challenging than I’d like. Is it necessary to focus on just 1 or 2? To improve my skill level, I’d have to say yes. I’m not going to magically be able to draw technically well without practice. Or to paint well without practice. Or to have consistently good cookies or pie or dinner without practice. To just enjoy whatever I’m making though – maybe/maybe not? Sometimes, just the act of crocheting or writing can be satisfying.
Sketching / Writing / Crochet / Baking / Cooking
I enjoy fiddling about with all those things.
I’ve managed about half the words for a successful NaNoWriMo (and am planning on participating again next month). I’ve participated in the Camp NaNoWriMo’s and … well, not necessarily succeeded but have definitely increased word count, which is a sort of success, because of the Camp’s relaxed rules.
I sketch as the mood strikes me. In fact, on my drive home this morning from my sister’s house, I decided that instead of buying a birthday card and wrapping supplies for my godson’s birthday gift (already purchased), I’d use comics and draw him a thematically appropriate card. I got him a tackle box for fishing. He’s just getting into it, and really excited. So I googled an image of a trout, and found a rainbow trout that looked simple enough for me to recreate in colored pencil. It came out pretty darn well. Sometimes, that happens. Sometimes it does. I want desperately to draw and no topic comes to mind.
I haven’t crocheted in a while. I should. We’re getting to the right season for it again. So maybe, soon.
And of course I cook several times a week, even if I’m not always baking. Luckily, cooking and baking are basically just chemistry with instructions; once you have a basic idea for how things interact with each other, you’re set. There’s a baking school starting up north that I’d really love to attend. I hope it does well. I’d like it to succeed so that I can try to attend some semester in the future.
But the thing is, they’re all hobbies. They aren’t things I do to earn a living. I like dabbling here and there. But I do sort of wish I could improve more quickly. (And I haven’t even addressed things like musical instruments or coding, which I haven’t truly touched in years.) But again, without focusing…
So, am I thinking too hard about focusing? Is it just finding something to whine about?
Is the fact that I’m writing about it to explore the idea just an expression of the easiest to explore or is it a sign I should focus on writing?
Any or all answers are probably true.
I wonder how people think of me? Do they think of me as an artist or consumer? Depending on which, what kind of artist/consumer?
Some of this triggered by Patreon. Some is just standard existential questions that wander through my brain in passing. Maybe my brain just can’t stand a quiet moment and feels compelled to mutter at me in the brief ones I have. Anyone else have those moments?
I am apparently having a day.
I did art. Of at least 2 types I enjoy.
I put things in a pot, knowing at the end of the day, there would be yummy, hot, comforting food to eat for dinner. (Chuck roast. Potatoes. Carrots. Beef broth cube. Fresh ground pepper. Salt. Water. A drizzle of olive oil.) I was right. It was lovely. I also took concentrated orange juice and powdered sugar and made a glaze for an orange vanilla pound cake I had baked the night before, and I drizzled it over the bundt cake. And then I covered it and took it to work. I checked the break room before coming home and half of it is gone, which makes me very happy. (Not just because people ate it. Also because breakfast for tomorrow. There are 4 eggs in a pound cake. It’s totally breakfast.)
I also worked on a tattoo design of the tragedy/comedy masks with a ribbon with words on below. It’s much closer. I’m trying to decide if I want to scan in and try to teach myself vector design in Pixelmator so that I can get it all pretty and neat and tidy and colored and sized properly to take to my tattoo artist so I can say “This. I want this on my leg above the last tattoo please. How much and how long, so I know what to save, and when should we schedule it for?” But I’m scared of teaching myself a new thing. So I may end up tinkering more with pencils and paper for a bit.
And yet. And yet I’m sad. And I’ve felt lonely today. And I’ve felt as though I’m strange and different and Not Right all day long. There are weird moments, where I almost feel as though I found the correct key, and I’m part of the melody and I fit with my little silly, unique side bit, and then the main piece shifts into a major chord, and I twang discordantly in my minor key and I want to hide.
I tried to see the pretty things. There were several. I threw a frisbee ring so high and far. It was lovely and gravity defying for a moment. The leaves were drifting down in fluttering showers of yellow-orange-rusted-red to gather in the gutters, on the grass, in the street.
But I still came home tired.
And for a bit, my sweetheart was home. And we ate dinner together. And fed cats, and cuddled and played with them. And I got to curl up on the couch and just rest with my head on his chest, tucked up under his arm while he checked things and showed me things on his phone, and I mostly listened to his heart beat and felt at home; safe and loved.
And that was very, very good.
But it was still a day.
And now I want … something. Someone? Someone to talk to by typing, I think. So I’m blogging. Sometimes, I think it’s that I miss gaming on *mushes. Where there was socializing OOC and RPing that was really community story-telling or a giant game of “Yes, and then…” But I am so rusty, I don’t know what I’d do if dropped in such a world again.
Perhaps I am only feeling old. Perhaps it’s hormones. Perhaps it’s winter coming, and much as I adore Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas, I dread the anniversaries of loss.
I don’t know. I just wish my heart would settle and I could find focus in something for longer than 2 minutes.