Over a year has passed, and a recovery is slowly evolving. I have a new home, studio, and some of the things I once had. Enough to begin work again.
There is a difficulty in returning to creative work, after a year and four months working on all things external. The creative work comes from the interior, and little time has been allowed for languishing there. Instead it has been about time schedules, money, people, building details, acquiring lost possessions from the insurance list….an entirely different discipline. What Chinese Buddhist monks call ‘living in the world of red dust.’
So I now attempt to swim my way out of that red dust before it swallows me up. I have my new and beautiful space for living, and also a dedicated workspace and darkroom. I have some tools and materials. The difficulty, as it usually is, is the interior. The getting back to somewhere lost over time where one was comfortable and happy to reside. I am looking for that inner space and it eludes me. I roam about my space, arranging things, but cannot find my vision. I must simply begin…a blank piece of paper, a piece of charcoal, or peering at an old film negative. Print something on the new printer that has yet to be plugged in. Begin, with a kind of fear of the unfamiliar. The transformation that took me away I have to now take to the present. There is no going back; the past is history. I am new, everything around me is new, and yet I look for something I once was, to help me take the next step.