Sometimes kids' schedules or a family vacation need to take precedence. Other times, I intentionally concentrate on writing, so painting gets pushed aside. (It happens the other way around, too.) Plenty of times, I just feel used up, and need to wait for the well to fill up again.
Dry spells - that's what I thought they were - used to worry me deeply. In my first few years as a painter, every time I lost my creative momentum I wondered if I'd ever find it again. At last I noticed that, like a wandering cat, it always comes home eventually. So at that point I began to relax into a rhythm of producing, and - noticing.
I've come to appreciate my times of soaking up impressions. I realize that I do a lot of work during these times, consciously or unconsciously exploring compositions suggested in everything I see around me. In fact, I do a lot of painting while I drive - but I don't think I'll get pulled over for it, since it all takes place in my head. It's like breathing - taking in images, producing work.
Recently I lost a very dear old friend to cancer. I made a twelve-hour road trip to say good-bye to her, and then a month later drove the same road again to her memorial service. Twelve hours on the road is a long time to gather images and impressions. I knew the initial trip and its purpose changed me, but I had no idea how richly the road itself had blessed me until I returned home to a new purpose, a new format, new colors and textures. I took a really deep breath there on the road to my friend - and now I'm singing.
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