Picture postcard

As I had failed to capitalise on the actual opportunity, I decided to pull the thread of my art show attraction in the comfort of my own bed.

And, no, I don’t mean by masturbating, I mean by lying in the dark coming up with ideas.

I followed the pathways my brain wanted to pursue. Naturally, the primary problem it wanted to solve was how to find this person, so that it could have a second chance at probably not talking to them. It wanted to find out who they were, so that it could orchestrate the best chance at happening upon them. Very familiar territory. I’m an internet sleuth in recovery, so I nixed that line of inquiry pretty sharpish. But then I have nothing to go on, my petulant brain did wail. Well, if you’ve got patience, Brain, there’s a pretty obvious way you might see him again – by attending a similar such art show in the future.

And then I had what I needed. Because, actually, something that is apparently far more engaging to my brain than devising plans to meet this stranger it liked the look of, is planning a piece to submit to the next art auction. Especially when it’s a silly, tongue-in-cheek piece that I can whip up in half an hour.

Much like emotions, I have learned that whims and attractions are best submitted to, rather than repressed. So long as you can set your expectations and interpretations aside. Because, at least in my experience, they don’t usually take you where you think they will, but they definitely take you somewhere you want to go.

And those destinations may not turn out to be satisfying to anyone other than yourself. But I think we, as a collective, need to get a whole lot more comfortable with that outcome. And I, as an individual, most certainly do.

Riding the wave

Upon my bed is a pile of yarn.

That feels more like the start of a poem than a blog post, but I like it.

One of my favorite things to do is start creative projects. And, like many people who most enjoy starting creative projects, my follow through leaves something to be desired. Which means I have more raw material than I have ever transformed into finished product. And this has only been kept in check by ruthless routine purges, otherwise I would have surely drowned in fabric and paper by now. I got the yarn out because my son was amazed to learn I can knit. So I figured it was high time I knit him something for Christmas.

Out poured the yarn. And with it out poured all my wildest knitting fantasies. All the ambitious projects I’ve kept swirling perpetually in a space outside of space, and all the delicious inspiration they send coursing through my veins.

I am overwhelmed with opportunity. Transfixed by possibility. I don’t have time to make them all. Where should I begin?

I unearthed this part of myself to make a present for my son, so it’s only right I start there. And, let’s be very clear, it’s been a minute since you actually, you know, made anything. So rein in the ambition.

Hooded scarf with rainbow dino plates it is, then. Good. Now ride that ecstatic, inspired momentum until it escapes while you’re washing the dishes.