Ideas are often blown in with the wind. It almost feels as if it is dry-monsoon season in San Francisco because for the past six weeks or so, it has been coming just as strong as when the wind first started. In a town full of blowers, we’re all being blown.
And when these ideas are blown in, landing like falling leaves from a tree, a collage of nature, one sifts through and finds the leaf with the map written on it. Or, the leaf with the arrow pointing to the treehouse with all the real ideas waiting inside. And then, later in the evening, your father stands out on the back porch and yells to you off into the distance to come home, take those ideas, and use them after a long day of play.
I have kept my focus on creating a discipline recently. In a short time I feel a small but significant improvement in my daily life and in my ability to create. I feel more human, too, for better or worse. But, suddenly, creating a discipline became a project of it’s own. Getting stuck in repetition, working past any mundane associations with the process, and beginning to find the places in life where one could focus and concentrate.
The discovery-and-creation-of-art as meditation-in-action.