Friday, September 5, 2014

Nothing else for it.

{ Familial feet }
Blog's been quiet for a while now. I'm sure by now all six seven of you subscribed readers are desperate and foaming at the mouth to have another precious gem of a 'me' filtered blog entry.
(Can you even imagine the layers of embittered sarcasm in the tones of that sentence? Probably not. But no matter.)

I'm still coming back to myself. Been traveling. Been sick. Been working.

For a while, I purposely walked away from my self imposed obligation to write, doodle, dance, be creative in any way, or actively absorb anything to feed my creativity. I needed to step out of the conference room in my head wherein every one of my creative and (practical parts too) have been basically drinking lots of coffee and yelling at one another, and me; and nothing is getting done.

Reboot.

{ Eastern water }
Thanks to random turns of events, I found myself in tranquility on Martha's Vineyard, then surrounded by family on the Massachusetts mainland: an un-thought out working vacation that nudged me back over into a healthier state of mind/spirit. I didn't ask myself to do anything, but work on a brochure design and telecommute every now and again to the 11249 office. Everything else was no pressure. Even seeing family.
This adventure came on the heels of travel to Spain- Which was truly wonderful, but not healing. Not for me. I think it was a healing for my Human to retrace his steps there. But that is another ball of falafel to deep fry.
The MA journey could have been a running off and renting a room in Portugal for one. I had a very real opportunity arise through a Facebook connection, but I was not ready. Clearly.
With all this screaming and arguing and nonsense going on under the skin/behind the eyes, I went back to my roots. It seemed the thing to do. After a few hugs from family I had not seen in a while, I felt somehow more healed and quieted than I had felt in a long time.

So what now?
It's back to plunging a head on a path that isn't there.  I have a pocket knife and I face the tangles of a vast jungle. Same as always. With few safeties. No such thing as failure. It goes on. Little changes or no. There's nothing else for it.

I've submitted a performance art proposal to to be a part of an exhibition of Rosarito art at CECUT. (And I have to resubmit it translated into Spanish. -Who knows what language now?) I don't feel like I am a proper Rosaritense, but hey, I live here, I have made and am making art here and so, why not show it in a museum? I am not holding my breath for this one. It is all out of my hands at this point.
Usually is.