Art Journal Page - Priorities
So much for great intentions. Having begun my new blog, I was determined to be regular with postings, but here it is, two weeks gone by without talking to myself, at least, on here.
My self-chatter can be troubling to others when they happen to be within hearing distance. Family and friends who call in for a cuppa or a meal can end up quite frustrated with my motor-mouth meanderings, unsure whether I’m speaking to them or an appliance. Of course, it might also be the dog I’m directing comments at. All in all, visits to Jenn’s Joint can be somewhat confusing, though rarely dull.
With fifteen things on the go at once, in various stages of development, not only is there my thinking aloud to contend with, but also the task of finding a place to sit. What can I say? I overflow – from office to studio, to dining room and living room. Like an outpouring of lava, my creative projects ooze from flat surfaces, filling the nooks and crannies of my home, and my life.
Perhaps it has something to do with galloping age, but if I can’t see ‘it’, it very often gets swallowed up by some other more pressing priority.
Last weekend’s town-wide garage sale was the catalyst for a clearing-out. Needless to say, in order to decide what to let go of, my home was the epitome of upheaval. I’m not sure the days of rummaging and sorting, debating and deciding were actually worth the modest monetary gain. However, the spirit is definitely lighter, and will be even more so after a trip to the local op shop with recycled donations.
The day after the garage sale, I was straight into creating wares for a stall at the Talbot Yabbie Festival market, to be held during the upcoming Labour Day long weekend. There’s nothing like a tight deadline to get the creative juices flowing. And to get me talking to myself!
The tasks on my mental to-do list are playing ping-pong, challenging each other for top priority.
There’s the supermarket to brave, the bin to bring in, the next spread to do in the new altered book, the mail to check, that story to rewrite, the feathered orphan to feed, felt to glue, the dog to worm, new ink cartridges to buy, a walk to take, washing to hang-
“We interrupt the play with a special announcement. Would the brain-owner please attend to the hijacking of her hotmail account. Your contacts will purchase Viagra in their own time, if and as needed, not because a bored nitwit in France is sending unsolicited emails, from your account.”
Great. Just when Domestic Diva is about to whisk Mistress Muse from top billing, the newcomer, Email Eejit, shoulders them both out of the way and flings himself across the net. No wonder priorities become confused. No wonder I talk to myself!