Blank. My mind feels blank like a canvas waiting for a stroke of genius to fill its fibers.
I was told being blank can be a good thing. I wonder who thought of that.
I’ve been busy creating. Painting. Sketching. Writing. Then like a naughty five year old, shamefully hiding the works I deem less than perfect at the back of sketch pads and notebooks.
It’s a process. What is ?!
I think the real art is the process, and articulating the ‘blanks’ on canvas, with music, words or movement might just be the stroke of genius that’s needed.
I’ve switched to writing with my red Co-op pen just because the ballpoint feels more fluid than the silver Hilton pen I had been using. Why on Earth do I not have a nicer pen to scrawl away with?!
It’s obvious I am blank when I’m concerning myself with the type of pen I’m using to pen about my blankness.
It isn’t that I’m lacking the creativity to write… I have the story laid out, literally.
I’m just held up by my blankness.
I’m too busy starting at paintbrushes, books, journals and BLANK canvases. All of it becoming still life.
I’m too busy enjoying the incredible softness of my $9.95 Costco blanket and daydreaming about my novel finishing itself.
I’m far too busy sitting here concentrating on my blankness and thinking about the spring rolls in my refrigerator.
I feel like a flashing cursor on a computer screen. Blip. Blip. Blip.
My great Co-op pen just ran itself dry… Hello Hilton Chicago.
Maybe it is not my day to generate a piece of work. Maybe I should just focus on other things; like laundry, or reading someone else’s writing.
I’ve thought too long and hard about this blankness and those spring rolls.
Thankful for a microwave and cappuccino machine.
Blip… Blip… Blip…..