One such time was in my early 20's when the husband of my youth and I drove up to a canyon high above the world. You could only get to this particular spot by driving a one lane road, with mountain on one side and cliff on the other, for over a mile. Scary as hell, but so worth it! At least back then; I don't think I'm ballsy enough to do it now!!
Anyway, the road spit us out in this beautiful mountain meadow, with the most vibrant wildflowers and lush-isly delicious greens: bushes, trees, grasses. Absolute heaven! We only went there a handful of times, but each time pulled on my heartstrings so much that I wished to bring up a canvas and oil paints and paint the scene. The only trouble is I don't paint that well, and what confidence I had in the hope of creation was doused by the logical fact that I didn't have the supplies or training. Gorgeous, though. Absolutely stunning!
So many times in the past few years I feel like there is a novel way down inside of me that is waiting to get out. Needing to be written. Needing to be heard and understood. I've started many stories, but none of them have satiated the feeling that there is something more. Something better. But it is being stuffed down by fierce hands of doubt (on my part) and an acute feeling of amnesia - feeling like I should instinctively know who I am and know my story, but somehow the knowledge is behind a translucent curtain, just out of my reach.
Such it is, and such it will be, if the current writers are telling the truth about their own mind-blocking writer's block.
For now, I write here, on facebook, on merrie melody dot blogspot dot com, and I photograph. And I even get paid for my photography occasionally and also occasionally my work is liked well enough to win a ribbon.
Creation has always been within me, and even when I had a teacher in 4th grade that didn't like me, I bloomed and thrived under his tutelage. He taught us how to watercolor paint a sunrise and sunset with silhouetted objects in the forefront painted black on top of the vibrantly painted background. Another time, he rounded up "junk" boards, and bottle caps, popsicle sticks and other odds and ends of metal and wood and plastic, gave us a bunch of nails and with our hammer we brought from home set out to create junk art. It was one of my favorite experiences!!
In 5th grade I won an art contest, that I didn't enter, at a dentist office. We drove by bus to the office and all of the art that had been submitted by teachers were displayed in the rooms, and mine had a ribbon hanging on it. My teacher never celebrated my success, but my classmates noticed. On the way home, on the bus, I was chatty, because that's how I get when I feel exuberantly happy. When we got back to the school, I had to stay inside during recess because talking on the bus was forbidden, and I needed to be punished. Ah well, I was a celebrity :)
In 6th or 7th grade, again my painting was submitted without my knowledge and it won honorable mention. I have that picture of an old house somewhere around here.
Art is me and I am it. I wouldn't know who I was without my creations, my creativity, and the drive that there is something in here, inside me, just waiting to get out.
And so it goes.