In the aftermath of this latest show at the West End Gallery, I have been taking a small break from painting, instead trying to get some things done around my home and studio that have been put off while I was working. I have a real knack for putting off things that need to be done and there is a real backlog now of small projects waiting to be faced. Nothing big and nothing too testing, just normal maintenance things like cleaning up fallen trees around the property and the such.
I thought, while I was finishing up the show work, that puttering around with this maintenance work would be a relaxing break but I forget how ingrained my painting routine has become in me. Instead of relaxing, I find myself gathering anxiety about not having a brush in my hand, not working towards something. I don’t know how to feel about this and find myself conflicted.
In one moment, I view this inability to find relaxation beyond my work as a flaw, a symptom of a shallow or hollow nature. But in the next moment I am thankful for having found the ultimate soother in my work, to spend the greater part of my time doing that thing that gives me peace and brings me a sense of deep relaxation. Not to mention the meaning and joy it brings. I guess it comes down to me working to relax where most folks must leave work behind to feel at ease. This inversion of the norm is obviously the conflict, one that I am still struggling to reconcile even after fifteen years of doing this on a full-time basis. Maybe I will have it straightened out in my head in fifteen more.
Okay, enough of that. Here’s a little music, from around 1990, by one of my favorites, John Prine, singing his Speed of the Sound of Loneliness with Nanci Griffith.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2e9wWFg-pI
Redtree Times 
Obviously, you’re the kid who doesn’t want to stop playing and go pick up his “room.” You resent having to do anything that takes you away from your “play,”
There’s also this thing I call “critical mess.” There are tasks like cleaning something up,–house, yard, studio, — that you can let slide only so long, before the mess gets to the point where it drives you nuts and you have to go take care of it. Obviously, your yard has not reached your mess threshold. It hasn’t quite achieved a state of critical mess, yet. My mom has a very low “mess” threshold — you only have a short window of time (hours) to read a paper or magazine, before it becomes junk and goes in the trash. The minute you’re done with something you must put it away. You can’t leave clothes out on the bed, or shoes on the floor. They must be hung up and put away, etc. I, on the other hand, have a relatively high mess threshold. I don’t live in a pig sty, but I can let the housework go for a week or two, and let stuff pile up until it gets in my way, and annoys me enough to make me stop and clean it up. My library is about to reach critical mess. Whole shelves of books need to be sorted, culled, and arranged. I’ve been putting it off for one reason or another, mostly work. One day here soon, I won’t be able to stand it any longer and I will make time to do the deed, which will take hours. . .
I don’t know if “critical mess” has been reached here but it definitely requires a preemptive strike of some sort before it hits that tipping point.