Creative Storms

Art Journal - Summer Storm

Art Journal - Summer Storm

There is something electrifying about a summer storm, apart from the obvious, when the backyard is a dust bowl and the water level in the fish pond drops by a couple of centimetres each day.

On my way home from an afternoon  of op-shopping and searching out art supplies, Mother Nature was working herself into a tizz, though I didn’t hold out much hope for my patch of dirt benefiting from the promised showers.  It seems the sky godddess very often has her umbrella up when the rain clouds come to my area.  Not this evening, though.  Perhaps she left her brolly on the bus.  It was like living in a waterfall.  Mesmerising, noisy and oh, so very exciting.

Since having the roof fixed, my only concern at the deluge is whether the fish are buried in the mulch beneath the oak tree, at the bottom of the hill.

I love the changing of the seasons.  By the time summer draws to an end, which it’s not yet, despite bumping the tail end of its allotted timespan on the calendar, I’m ready for cooler days, layered clothing and the finish of daylight saving.

As Mother Nature turns the wheel, I’m also conscious that my creative life is cyclic.  Ideas germinate and take root, projects blossom and come to fruition. There follows a dormant period while the seeds of new ideas drop from the cosmos.  Some take, some don’t.  Those that do start the cycle again.

This week I’ve not only been totally engrossed in and completed artwork for a swap with the Paper Traders group, but I’ve also rewritten, and submitted, a story to an online publication. Both the studio and the office are due for a tidy up after my creative storm.

Too often, I’m guilty of not following advice I give to other writers – keep sending out the work!  No one is going to read it if it’s mouldering in a drawer or taking up space on a hard drive.  Okay, so it might be rejected.  Rejection is part of life.  It’s okay to wallow in self-pity and regret – for a day, tops.  Then it’s time to research, find another publication, and send it off again.  Next time, it might reach the right publisher on the right day.  One can hope.  If there’s no hope, I might as well bury myself in the mulch with the fishes.

Besides, if our work is out there, that’s one less thing cluttering up our minds, if not our hard drives.  No need to feel guilty about a time of regrouping before the next creative storm.

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2 Responses to Creative Storms

  1. Aimeslee says:

    Hi Jenn! I have to say, I really enjoyed catching up here since the last time I posted. I lovelovelove your Australia Day piece as well as your latest art journal page. And, do you know, I’m a bit surprised to read you are a grandmother! I’d pictured you as an energetic, respectful and open-minded 30-somethinger. Now, I’ll just have to add a few wrinkles and lots of wisdom to my mental pic. LOLOL Okay, you look a lot like me now.

    I was struggling to absorb the carving post, having no knowledge of the craft or skill. BUT, I was interested as I recently carved my first stamp out of a pink pearl eraser I had laying around. It worked! I used a #11 Exacto knife and drew the design on the eraser. The hardest part was as you alluded to — choosing the design. Love your on-the-cheap resources. My kinda thing – use what you got. And, thanks for the linky to me on your sidebar, I am humbled and honored. I have you on my sidebar, too! xoxo

  2. admin says:

    Thanks for calling in, Aimeslee, and glad you enjoyed the visit. Grinning at the ‘energetic 30-somethinger’. If only… though, no, on second thoughts, I don’t want to turn back the years. Kidlets underfoot, pending major life changes, taking on any sort of work that might put food on the table… nah. I’d rather be here, now…OLDer and crinklier, with not a minute to spare in case my tarnished hourglass runs out before I’m ready.

    Don’t you just love it when something works? Especially when it’s done with what’s on hand. I sure do. Not that it’s always successful, but persistence and need are usually great co-workers.

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