For those who know how to read, I have painted my autobiography.
–-Pablo Picasso
I have been trying as of late to find a way out a deep funk in my work. Between working on a couple of maintenance projects around my home and the studio and a swiss-cheese mind that has been wandering and distracted in recent months, my work has been somewhat dormant, much to my dismay.
This happens every so often and it generally leads me back to a reexamination of my previous work from a wide span of time, from the earliest days up to the near present time. I am trying to find the same sort of inner pattern or track that spawned that earlier work, something that might fire up my synapse now once more when I examine it a bit closer.
In doing so, I am sometimes reminded of the Picasso quote above that has been bouncing around in my head for many years now. Looking at the work spread across the years, I wonder how people will read it in the future, what it will tell them about myself.
Will my work truly serve as my autobiography?
That is, of course, if they read it at all. That’s a big if.
Nobody really knows if one’s autobiography– that being their life’s work– will be read or relevant in the future. But I guess you just try to keep forging ahead, carrying the hope that if someone in the future does happen across your work that they will be able to fully take in that autobiography, to experience the sensations and feelings you tried to capture in your life.
Now back to the search…
Well, you seem to be in the same space I inhabit right now. Not a great space and some aches and pains and fears. But it’s where I am. Creativity, compassion, cognition…all seem to have vanished or dulled in the last months. Perhaps it’s just a plateau we are on and cannot see the next steps yet. Hope you find the steps to keep climbing.
You, too.