I am thinking about love. Right now. It is an interesting thing to think about. In fact, being a person.. I've devoted alot of time thinking about loving and participating in the act.. of loving. (please do not take me too literally here).
As time passes and I continue to grow so does the love that I experience in my day to day. Love is an elusive - it shifts from person to person from age to age and from sex to sex.. No two loves are the same. No two relationships are the same, regardless of status ie friendship or lover, family member or co-worker.
I am also thinking of balance in these relationahips. Balance and expectations. I have been so very unbalanced and have been foiled by own expectations. But then... really.. what did I expect? I am the sum of the parts... and expectations are a part of the final answer. I am learning to remove the expectations people may have of me from those that I have of myself.. I didn't really think this was a problem.. it's something I am only just becoming aware of. But there is a truth in there. All these years of carrying assumed expectations. Bloody heavy.
I am my own worst enemy. I have set myself enormous tasks and goals. And I like to be hard on myself. I enjoy the suffering to a point - the endurance. During this time I make or I write or I think and draw... to come out on a day EXACTLY like today and wash, brush, dress, cut and pluck... as though I have been off somewhere in a desert for months with no mirror or water or care for it.
I washed today. I washed it all off.. the paint, ink and dust. I took a breath and felt mighty uncomfortable. Rest hurts. In my clean clothes and my brushed hair and without so much as missing a beat I picked up a relatively tiny brush and began to paint the lounge room white. I could only paint as high as I could reach. I must have been thoroughly warm by the end of it because I painted in a slope and my reach was longer at the end. I completed 3/4 of a wall and a doorframe. The whole time I thought about love and my friend, who I love, sitting in the next room, talking to me through an open door...
All those years, I wished for an open, honest and accepting friendship which carried on for a life time... shared time and experience.. not bound by stereotypes and expectations of labels. I am more Picasso than Martha Stewart. I have his creative arrogance at times - because I insist on making and the importance that I make - for the world. Isn't that funny? Delusion or prophesy? And what a terrible joke, if at the end of it all, it was all for naught?? :) I guess that is the risk we take in this dangerous line of work... being an artist.