When asked to describe who I am, I say that I see through the eyes of a poet. It’s a pretty neat way to experience the world. But I have believed this gift to be a trifle -- suitable only for art appreciation, thoughtful cards, and picture-taking. I dither with my pastels because I suspect it’s just another time-consuming hobby of no more contribution than Sudoku puzzles, and far more costly. Yet my spirit longs for profound expression and the satisfaction of successful sharing—the fulfillment of ‘being’ the Poet.
This week in the mountains confirmed to my rational mind that I do have a valid and unique point of view that could be worthy of presentation. I confirmed that I need a mode of expression that will suit my favorite tools—my eyes and hands, and I still get to write. Writing about your work has become an essential for the modern artist (post Yr 2000) as art moves from the galleries to the internet. I have accepted that the work I was made to do must be done, even if it must be done on unpaid time. I am extraordinarily blessed, however, to have a paying job that neatly accommodates my needs as a budding artist. I must rush now to make the most of it.