My art makes me depressed
The mere thought of creating something new finds despair
It wasn’t always this way
It seems to be in recent years, the will to create has not been with me
I look back at the volumes of work I have created
Mundane, inspirational and surprising are words that come to mind
There are books of paper and Bristol board, canvases and watercolor paper sitting blank
Paints and brushes have not been exercised in a long while
Maybe writing these words will create inspiration?
Possibly staring at the blank canvas that has been sitting on my easel
Will it bring a dream to life?
I begin to remember when I created endlessly
Life was simple
Life was most times lonely
Inspiration came from such solitude
I had a place to create
In my heart and in my home
A place is necessary
A place I no longer have
To create, I need to create a place.
The Journey of a thousand miles 