For some reason, I am finding it impossible to paint. There is nothing that inspires me. I have been looking at photos and all kinds of images for the last three weeks and going on walks in the drab winter countryside and there is NOTHING I want to paint. I have been looking around the house for found (real life) still lifes and found zilch.
An artist friend told me not to worry about it and to do something else. One day soon an idea will grab me out of nowhere, by surprise. So I have been playing my sax, and going for walks, and catching up with the my to do list.
I usually love this in between time that stretches from Christmas Day to New Year, but this year not so much. Sunshine would help but there is none.
I’ve been reading poetry, always a comfort, and I came across this one by Grace Paley, which taps into how I used to feel when I was writing and being rejected.
I am not sure if this is in any way related to not being inspired, but I’m thinking about it.
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