Just when I'm ready to throw in the towel and contemplate being chicken farmer, soap maker, dog washer- that this art thing is just too much. Too much frustration. Not worth it. Thats it, I quit, I say. Despite the fact that I have learned and re-learned that I can't quit. I decide to force myself to be happy making art for myself only, in the dark dank basement, or some other woe is me location. Maybe its enough to make art for me and the dogs, cats and chickens I don't have yet. Its at this point, time and time again, the shifty universe comes calling with its art tendrils and pulls me back in. Throws me a bone. Kicks me in the ass and says get on with it and stop moping.
Is it an addiction or a guardian angel that makes me not give up? It seems like a larger force, what ever it is. I have been so fortunate, I choose to see it as a good thing, instead of an endless purgatoryish battle. I get phone calls out of nowhere, "Hey your work is great, will you be a part of my proposal?" Sure, let me check my schedule.