“Collage is like a hall of mirrors. Every direction you look, you see something different and visually stimulating.”—Nita Leland
Current distraction level: Mid to high
I feel pretty certain that if I consistently journaled about my mental state every January (or if at least I could find all of the loose notebooks where I did journal about it), a pattern would start to emerge. Distraction and avoidance, followed by guilt/shame/defense of my perceived sloth.
I tend to get excited about a new project and then proceed to avoid it, distracting myself with new interests or research. It doesn’t only happen in the winter, but January is ripe for these wobbly beginnings. Like the time I taught myself to crochet so I could make exactly one crooked baby blanket and never touch the tools again. Or the towering stack of library books I checked out all at once so I could research the history of crabbing in the Chesapeake Bay. During Final Exam week. Like I had nothing else to do.
There’s nothing wrong with any of this, of course. Artists deserve to have other interests, to fall down rabbit holes daily. But if I’m binge watching Love is Blind: Sweden, I’m not creating. For me, I’m likely using this other thing as a distraction for the writing that, for whatever reason, I’m avoiding.
Stop me from the needlepoint sets I just shopped for online (note: I do not know how to needlepoint but I think I might enjoy the stab-stab-stab idea of it). Or don’t stop me at all. I’ll do it anyway. I can’t even estimate the hours I spent over the long weekend collaging a punk rock narwhal. I love the results, I loved the process. That’s all that should matter (not the deadlines looming).
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