Last night I was ready for the 2 a.m. heebie-jeebies. I found my journal and schedule book, set them out at the table downstairs. I cleared a path to my studio. Just in case, I made sure there was milk in the fridge. I went to bed, hopeful that my new strategy for dealing with my wakefulness would work.
At 2:30 a.m., I woke up. I was exhausted but I still couldn't fall back asleep. After 20 minutes, I got up and went to my studio.
It was awful. Everywhere I looked, all I could see were things I had to do. I'm missing two important items I've already spent hours looking for, and looking for them again did not appeal. Discouraged, I went back inside and made a cup of hot milk.
I thought perhaps I would simply list everything running through my head and write them in my journal. I wrote for an hour.
I wrote about the people I'm worried about, people I care for who are so special but so fragile right now. The mother in me is overwhelming—I want to reach out to them, take them into my arms and tell them it will be all right. I couldn't figure out how to help them all.
I set that aside and worried about an exhibit deadline I've botched. I have to come up with a new piece right now. Right now. And still two more new pieces before my upcoming show. How could I do that??
As I wrote, I realized I could combine the three new pieces into two. Aha! Actually, I realized I only needed to complete one piece right now. The rest can be part of a new series. This was exciting! The writing was working.
The new theme would be...
And then I had the breakthrough I've been waiting two years for.
Here's where I am. I started out with my art being highly personal, a way of telling a story about myself. I approached it with great energy and focus, especially in ways to sell my work so I could grow the art and the business that supports it.
The business began to take precedence. Soon I was making work to sell. I still loved it, but it was getting to be a drag. Someone said, "Are you pursuing money, fame or prestige?" I decided if I weren't after money, or fame, then I must be going for prestige.
But that still didn't feel right.
I've been toying with the fact that many people, men and women, tell me how inspired they've been by my stories and my art. They buy and collect my work as talismans of hope and inspiration. I secretly called these people my "clan of horse people." A seed was planted.
A martial arts teacher told me an interesting story recently. A friend of his who'd met me commented to the instructor that he thought I might start my own "tribe of women" one day. When the teacher asked him what he meant by that, the young man said, "I don't know--it just came to me, so I said it." I wondered what that meant. It sounded a little like the clan of horse people. I kept it in my heart.
Here at my dining room table, at 3 a.m., it comes to me...What my art is now about.
What if it's not about prestige? What if it's about something else totally? What if it's about the caring?
What if it's my way of helping these young people I care so much about? I want to help them, but I'm just one person with limited time, energy and resources. What if it's the mother in me trying to find a way to be a mother to them? What if these are my prayers for them made real?
What if it's a way to protect them against being destroyed before they find their power? What if it's about my way of caring for the world? What if it's my tiny part of healing the world, as the story of the Lascaux cave helped me heal?
I envisioned a series of pieces, each dedicated to a special person in my life right now. Each piece will be a protective talisman, a shield, for my tribe of women. I'm working feverishly to finish one piece this weekend, in time I hope to inspire one young woman (and hopefully also meet the show deadline.)
When I returned to my artwork, the Lascaux Cave became a metaphor for that. As I grew as an artist, the cave continued to supply new stories for me, matching the changes that overcame my heart. On 9/11, the cave inspired a story that helped me reassess my role as an artist in the world.
And now the cave has worked its magic again.
The hot milk was good, too.
