I have felt a bit artistically frustrated lately. On this path of journal writing, doing what makes me happy, therapy, and self discovery... I can see the horizon my art comes from, growing brighter and different. In fact I know it is.
I see these images in my mind, more organic - free flowing - and adventurous.
Exactly how I feel at the moment.
I can't put my finger on my frustration other than I'm not getting to produce anything that is my own. I have been so busy illustrating a book that I just need it to be completed. I am frustrated because I have so much congesting my everyday that it's not allowing ample creative time - the creative time that I so deeply require.
Here I am doing things intentionally to make myself happy and return to my roots but also letting deadlines and responsibilities take over. Responsibilities are responsibilities for a reason though, and named such because they are things that must be done or need to be taken care of.
And so, I am changing my art into a responsibility.
Something that can't be pushed away because there is something else pressing in.
Knowing that I'm changing, I also know that my inner growth will also alter my work. In fact, not sure what is going to come out, makes me a little nervous I suppose. Afraid what others will think - I worry my new work won't be as quickly accepted. "Oh why is she doing her new work like this? Why change? Why this, or that, or the other thing?". I know how stupid that is, that I shouldn't let fears prevent me from creating what's inside or allow my inner critic to pop up and #$&@ with my head.
All great artists evolve. Their work changes, progresses, and matures. I'm there. I feel it... my artist soul is itchy. This artistic adventure of mine has me tapping the inside of my chrysalis. What color wings will I have? What kind of butterfly will I be?
I can't grow up, without my work growing up to.