Nota Bene

In a quiet moment in the late night/early morning of the middle of the weekend, while reading Borges(*), I was struck with a considerable predicament: Read on, grasping at the diaphanous clues that Borges leaves in his stories to drive you further into his trap, divesting you of your born reality and remaking it anew, or put the book down and try to mentally digest what I had already taken in, praying for some semblance of clarity. Being weak and overwhelmed, I chose to close the pages and sit and think. But clarity eluded me. He wrote at a level that I cannot fully appreciate, though I happily sit in awe of it. So I just rested my brain for a time, anticipating another attempt to dig into the work.

It is odd, now when I consider it, that I had not read Borges before. I’d heard of him, of course, seen various authors expound on the deep fascination they have with his work, but I resisted. Now, looking at the lost opportunities to have had a go at the works years ago, I feel that I only cheated myself some great pleasure. And now, in trying to rectify that error, am I getting to enjoy something that had been waiting for me all along. The Borgesian universe is vast, but I have found that it is also patient enough to be there when the lost among us discover it.

(*) Labyrinths by Jorge Luis Borges

Life is a self-complicating enterprise. Every item on the To Do List breeds a host of other items, until the hierarchy of the day’s requirements resembles a massive European royal family tree. I thought I might enjoy a calm and quiet night, less is more obviously, but that dream was squashed by the abrupt interrupting boot of work responsibilities, yet again.

I am of an age when retirement is just far enough away to be a teasing and needful thing, yet close enough to stir the blood to feel the hastening of time. It isn’t that I just look forward to retirement and freedom from a career spent in the trenches, I long for it… a deep diver knows the feeling, the bodily pull toward oxygen on resurfacing. Every day is a day closer. Every day is still a day of yet many more days, weeks, months, and years.

Tonight, in between catching up on work brought home, I will be editing some fiction and trying to get it sent out to editors before morning. Despite my boss thinking otherwise, it is my day off after all. I want to have a part of it just for me.

As I was sitting here tonight looking at some recent drawings I’ve done, I was suddenly hit by a memory from years ago of swimming in a hotel pool when I couldn’t have been more than 8 or 9 years old. The memory wasn’t significant, or even interesting, but it was there, buried in the vast detritus pile that is my brain. Why this memory and why this moment? I have no idea. The drawings and all the things I’ve done all day were unrelated. Yet there it was, this errant little memory, a snapshot in time, floating up out of the detritus pile into my active train of thought. How very strange the human brain is, how very odd indeed.

_Art from sketchbook page, mixed media on watercolor paper. _

I meant to send out some work to editors yesterday to see if I could get any bites, but fishing for publication gets old pretty fast. I used to love it, to love the challenge, to love the potential… I also used to play the lottery, though now I am more realistic. Instead of sending queries out, I painted and wrote, spent time thinking about the process and what it means to me.

I have dozens of pieces that I could query, lots of potential, but I don’t have the energy for the chase that I used to have. I think it’s an overall trend with me, things change with age. When I was younger and I had limitless time and energy, I would waste an entire night researching options for publication for a few pieces. Now, I just don’t know if I can “spend” that much time on anything.

My time has become increasingly valuable the older I get. Things that used to amuse me are less amusing now. Time wasters are really more irritating than ever before. And I see so many things as essentially wasting my time. Not the least of which is work. If not for the money, I would have chosen very differently in career paths.

All that being said, and whatever it might mean, I think I will submit a few pieces for review this afternoon. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve played the lottery.

And I’m feeling kind of lucky today.

Below is a recent piece from the sketchbook. Watercolor on watercolor paper.

I decided to enjoy my day off and when I got up, I went directly to the sketchbook and did a little bit of painting — seen below, mixed media on watercolor sketchbook paper — I know it was the best decision, because I was lost in the paint in short order and an hour slipped by unnoticed. At least unnoticed until my stomach growled more aggressively than was probably necessary to get my attention. And now I’m making a little bit of supper.

But I plan to do more painting tonight, to enjoy my day off and immerse myself in the process of creation and being creative. After the last week of soul-crushing, work-related nonsense, I am thankful to have this time to enjoy and relax, giving myself permission to waste the evening away painting and forgetting that I still need to work in order to pay bills.

What an odd week that was, and still the weekend ahead… I have to wonder, what will next week bring? Suffice to say, I am tired, more so than I should — even at my age — and I look forward to the nap I have planned for this evening. It’s not good to be napping, not with the risks to one’s sleeping patterns, but I sort of don’t care at this point. I’m awake so many times a night anyway, I don’t see that “pattern” really applies to me anymore. I would say that my sleep is unrestful and dysrhythmic in nature.

So what does all that have to do with the week? Not much. I’m just tired. And feeling my years today. Worse still, I’ve had almost no time to paint and ART properly. So it is a wonder that I got to steal a bit of time yesterday and add the piece below to my sketchbook. Just a simple watercolor sketch on watercolor paper. But it was nice to have the break.

The practices are at war: My painting and my writing, vying for attention and time, taking hills in small battles, only to lose those same hills in later skirmishes. I want to fill my day with both (blessed day off from work today, with another following tomorrow!) and yet I can’t seem to stratify any focus toward getting some shit done.

I did manage to get a few paintings done last week, and they are a bit of a departure if I am to be very honest, but I feel they are still within my fundamental style.

I wrote a series of flashes the other day. Actually enjoyed the process more than I usually do. Is that a sign of growth, or did I just pick interesting subjects? Time will tell.

Today is reserved for errands and ART. Of the two, the ART is by far the more important. But, as with all things, errands creep up on us and keep up busier than we need to be. They often overlap the time we reserve for artistic endeavors. Thus, as I see them, errands are obstacles that are best dealt with quickly and efficiently.

I’ve already got two new paintings started. A third is in planning stages, and the group is unrelated in subject. I also set aside some time today to do some figure studies and some landscape drawing.

A lot for one day? Yes, but otherwise there is work. And that bleeds life from the soul. So, ART it is!

I managed to get six paintings started over the last 4 days, small format ones (6 x 9 inches) that require less planning and work overall, but they are still lingering in a quasi-started state and I need to get some more work done on them today. Unfortunately, my professional workload has increased substantially this week and I won’t have near the time I need to get all of them done. I might get a layer or two done on a few of them, but I really need to focus on my job and get that work done first. I hate to defer creativity in favor of career obligations. It seems like a counter-intuitive way to live. But it does pay the bills.

Below is a painting I worked on last week. It is a small format work as well, 5 x 8 inches.

Though there was substantial effort in keeping my eyes open and submitting the stories I had in my queue last night, sleep won out and I went to bed… today was to be a more energetic day, thanks to better overall sleep. Ah, but one cannot predict the future!

I woke this morning (at 4:30 a.m.) to the sound of my cats engaging in a battle royale at the foot of the bed: fur flying, squealing, and hissing. This is their method of getting me out of the bed to feed them. And I can tell I am getting old and malleable, perhaps a bit dotty in the noggin, because I got up and fed them — as if by grand design. Cat design.

So now I am trying to wake up the rest of the way and plan out the day ahead, including the submission of the stories I had ready last night. Already behind and the day has barely started. Good morning, me!