Every summer I pack with intentions of becoming the creative person I want to be. From September to June, it seems that the kids life, the house, the bills, the volunteering, the socializing is too distracting and time consuming to allow me to focus on the creative side of me. So I pack up my paints, my yarn, my computer with full intentions, verging on the edge of anxiety even, of getting back my passion for creativity. I try to instill in my kids the power of doing, being strong to do what ever you want to do against any odds, and I fail to do that myself. Why is it that I have to wait till summer to find the time.

So, yesterday I pulled it all out, the pads of paper, the watercolor palletes, the brushes, and I sat, and sat, with not an inkling of what to paint. Afraid isn’t the right word, but I didn’t want to waste a piece of paper, or I suppose waste my time on something that was going to come out awful. And I just was at a loss of what to paint. I don’t even know what excites me anymore. A year ago it was giraffes, well it still is, but that wasn’t going to fit the bill yesterday. In the past, way past…college even, I always headed to the market and grabbed fruit, and made the age old standby still-life. Hence, the title, The Painted Pear. I didn’t have any fruit yesterday. And I was going to procrastinate till sunset. I picked a lone flower from outside and dug in. I am not happy with this by any means, but at least my brush touched paint.


So here I sit, contemplating what do I do now? I really am quite unsure of what to do. There so many things whirling around. George is in full time school next year so my free time expands, what do I do? As the years seemingly fly by, I realize what have(n’t) I done with them? I am clinically happy, my kids are healthy and well adjusted. We lead an active life and encourage new possibilities and provide what we can. So as I sit here so complexed with what my future holds, I can’t answer the emotional happy question.
Yesterday, a friend I hadn’t seen since last summer, says “So how is the book coming along?”. The book, which I was so focused on last summer, so proud to share and devoted hours and hours everyday. My kids even were so much a part of it, due to the fact we live in much smaller quarters in the summer so my studio was the dining room table. My answer was grim, and disappointing, as much to me as the obvious grim look on his face. I let down my kids, with not finishing this, whom I preach the lessons of not giving up, perservering, fight for what you want, don’t let anything get in your way. What the hell is in my way…?
Me, I am in my way. I recently made the comment that I am not an artist and I thought my kids, Maddy in particular, were going to come charging at me. So what now? I don’t know how to answer.