Wednesday, August 24, 2011



I've been on an artistic starvation diet lately imposed upon me by forces outside of my control. Tonight as I peck away at the keys, I am struck- once more- by how today is the perfect reflection of such deprivation. My head is pounding, my Prozac bottle is empty and unREfilled, the combination of anxiety and sorrow has me suspended over the cliff of tears and a banshee like scream, and I am trying, so, so hard to turn my attitude around. I will attempt to write my mood out creatively since I don't like to paint when I'm in a negative space. While I acknowledge it would probably be therapeutic, and there is a part of me that is curious to see what any of that would look like, I just don't like taking that into the studio. Maybe I'll try it away, or in some other room of the house as an experiment. Tonight though, I will try a bit of creative journaling to see if that staves off the hunger pains.



If you were to ask me where I'd rather be right now, I would not respond, "traveling France!" for a change, but instead imagine myself somewhere along the northern California coast. Right where the redwoods meet the ocean, and there is the sense of ancient that envelops you just a few paces into the woods. There is a place I know of there that I have kept secret to myself for years. I happened upon it a weekend away with friends long ago. I like to believe it's my personal earth's edge. There is a cave there, and a few yards from the cave is a rugged fifty foot cliff drop down into a wild expanse of ocean. The mouth of the cave is hard to spot. Today that's where I'd like to be. There the ground would be cool and soft, and the only sounds would be that of the wind and the water pounding against the cliff wall. There would be fern and California wild flowers growing above the mouth of the cave this time of year and spilling all around the sides and the ground. Before I would enter that cave though I would walk out onto the cliffs edge overlooking the wild water. I regard the untamed expanse of it with a combination of awe and respect. The wind whips cold around my body. I can feel the frigid air all the way to my bones. I'm not afraid of being here, or being alone, or being cold, but I am not immune to it either, so I hold onto myself, wrapping tighter, and tilt my face into the wind. Here there is nothing but water, earth, and air. Time is irrelevant, I am irrelevant, all of the details that crowd my life competing for time and attention, all irrelevant. This could be the beginning for all anyone would be able to tell arriving on the scene. I could be the first woman on earth and there would only be the elements to record it. Another day I might contemplate the beauty that surrounds me, the magnificence nature is displaying before my ignorant eyes. Another day I may feel humbled by the pure beauty of this view, or a rush of creative inspiration, but not today. Today my mind is a muddle of confusion and numbness. My eyes are blind to all but the images that race through my twisted mind of a future that has not yet taken place, but that I still dread with the certainty of a Messianic zealot. Today furry at the unjust has become defeat. I have answered the last unanswerable question. I have felt the final jolt of fear at a future pressing down hard and fast around me. Today I am overwhelmed by the insanity of this dance we all call life. Today I recognize that no matter how I try to ward off the heartbreak, it will devour me in the end. Knowing this, I stand there, and I scream. The wind and the surf and the seclusion swallow the sound from my lips like ruthless lovers, allowing the pitch to only pierce my own ears. I would go on and on until I had no breath, or no voice, whatever came first, no matter. When my head would hurt, as it does now, and my throat burn instead of constrict, I would have grown weary from the physical purging, so I would then turn my back on this reverent panorama, and walk down, into the cave to rest. As first the light, and then the sound of the ocean fade, I would find my resting place, lie gracefully down, and with a smile on my lips, sleep.

1 comment:

Laurelin Gilmore said...

Oh, you've gone right through my heart with this one Cree. La mer calls me whenever I close my eyes. I recognize another water baby in you. It does heal, too, doesn't it? All the waters of the world in different ways. Maybe finding your sea legs again is exactly what you need. After all, you can't say art without arrrr.

xoxo
L