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In hiding. Burrowed down into a sanctuary with limited access to the outside. Living on the end of the earth, looking out into the vastness of the ocean, peaceful and blue as it is, can bring on waves of melancholy I can’t fully grasp.
My depth as a friend, lover, mother…the part of me I am willing to share has taken a bubble of life and headed down into the darkness away from the rest, hiding…afraid. I can see the lithe, young, fey sprite of me, wounded, banged up and too tired to face one more onslaught, wearing thinner and thinner with loss of spirit. She is starved for joy. Aching for tenderness. Lonely for camaraderie. These elements of me, the masks of my life want nothing more than to slip away and hide, protecting themselves from any more damage and grief.
Funny though, I’ve suffered no more than the rest of our battered country. My life is quite good from the outside. I look healthy. My hair shines and flows. My skin is still rather well preserved and my body seems to be a strong representation of a healthy middle aged woman. My life is filled with the love, support and desire of my precious husband. My son is grown, on his way to a life in the career he has chosen. My parents, though suffering from one malady or the other, are in good health and soldier on. And yet….
I am an artist…or so I have been shouting from the roof tops for my whole bloody life. I stand in the center of my studio, waiting. Do I have anything to offer? It seems so bland and safe what I work on in there. No boundaries being inspected or fiddled with, just careful plotting and control…making pretty things to dazzle and amuse. Nothing that holds the soul or eye long enough to feel anything. My work feels like a waste of my time. It feels like it doesn’t require anything of the viewer. It feels as substantial as a diet soda.
Where is that irritating grain of truth that provokes the brilliant response of creative nacre?
I don’t know when I missed her, but the inspiration fairy seems to have come and gone. Maybe she is with my hiding with the nymph of my youth….how to coax them to return? The sad truth is there seems to be very few second chances.
