I want to go for a walk in the park because its such a beautiful thing to do.I often go on my trusted bike (tonto) but sometimes its just a sheer pleasure to stroll. To stroll and look at people that look nothing like you. People from very very different walks of life . Countries and cultures that Im sure I couldn't even pronounce let alone find them on a map. I lived in New York City for 6 years once upon a time and use to go to central park .The people there were also from all over the globe, but for some (good) reason they all seemed american, therefore alike. The people I see in the bois all seem to be from all over and not French, even though Im sure they live here.I like this, in fact I like this a lot.
I want to go for a walk but I cant. Im driven. Its a dreadful place to be. Im driven and I cant get out of it. I have so much work to do. So much art to produce. So much. Does it sound like Im complaining, Im not. I remember when I was very very young, sitting in my very cold bedroom in England, painting my little pictures that felt far from little. I remember telling my mother that if any of my friends come by, to tell them Im busy working. YES!!! working...I was 7..........Well dear readers things have not gotten any better, in fact they are worse..Worse and better..I am driven by something that cant be explained (thank god)
I have so much to do. Im grateful to the art gods that they have given me the burden to create.
I want to go for a stroll but I cant, im busy with art, im busy creating, I want to cry but I dont have time....
I want to go for a stroll.
The photo above is from a little walk I took last thursday evening while listening to Mahlers 10th.............
4 comments:
Great music choice...for such driven days...oh and what a wonderful burden it is...it is both heaven and hell...pleasure and pain.
The tears do come...they do.
Eat, drink and sleep with them...and what work it will be.
M
a martini helps also
It is terrible to be chosen.
Some are chosen to push little wagons down coal mines, to dig for Paris Hilton diamonds or to plant rice in swamps.
Some are chosen to spend bitter years in the same neon lit office, with the same dull collegues and the same stories by the coffee machine. Some are choosen to hang Bernard Buffet (How do you know I want to hang myself watching at a Buffet?)calender prints over their bed.
Some a chosen to stay awake at night listening to their brain boiling with ideas, so many ideas they have to do something with it.
Yes, life is unfair... Some wake up in the morning, have coffee bare feet in the grass, looking at ducklings learning to swim, the air loaded with lilac and irises.
For them, a stroll down Champs Elysées, a glance at someone in the tube or a tamoul grocery window are equaly inspiring. With a snap of their fingers, they can produce new and unic images. The people working in the neon lit office buy the magazine or drop by the gallery and escape for a while...
Yes, being creative (and being paid for it) is a burden...
S.B.
if only I was being paid.......oh well!
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