I realize that I haven't written in quite a while. Art...Craft...the Entrepreneurial Spirit...has been calling me more as of late. It occurs to me that I am mercurial in what I wish to create...or if I even want to create at all. I have a million and one projects pulling at me and the reasons why I haven't pursued some is lack of time, supplies, opportunity, courage, or I'm unsure how to proceed. Or maybe it's not a full-fledged concept at all, but an inkling of an idea that hasn't fully matured to the point of execution. And yet, through all of this, I still crave to put well-sharpened pencil to crisp paper and let Muse fish from my stream of consciousness. But the stream is now a whirlpool, a maelstrom of muddied waters where the lines of thought are blurred and chaotic...or not lines at all, just scattered scraps of abstracts. Sometimes I wish I could throw words upon a page like splattered paint; where the laws of gravity, viscosity, velocity and trajectory will, thru the non-law of chaos, produce something I can build upon and grow...But no. Words, by their very nature, are ordered, defined, pure in their symmetry. If Art is putting sperm to ovum to see what kind of child will grow, then Writing is having a child full-grown and giving her a voice, describing her existence for those who cannot see her. She is the Idea. You cannot describe the Idea without first having it, anymore than she can speak without first existing. Art is Growth... Evolution. Writing is Definition... Existence. Perhaps that is the key to my aversion...no...diversion of creative form. My muse wants Evolution, not Existence. Perhaps I do not want to be Defined so much as I need to Grow. Oh!...So many forms of Expression, so little *insert word here*...!
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