In this mortal existence of turbulence and joy we find ourselves in a constant state of change. Change is inevitable, whether it be physical, political, or environmental. You don't realize the rut you're in until the road changes.
Our family recently moved from Utah to Virginia. It's not a bad place. It's very green with lots of trees and wonderfully friendly people. It's just—different. My life changed in other ways as well, my Mother passed away in late April.
I have been living in a sea of creative blandness for more than six months now. My mom's death and moving 2,000 miles away from "home" impacted me far more than I want to admit. Theoretically, one can create anywhere or any time. I have been unable or unwilling to create. My muse—lost, broken, and dejected seems to be sulking in a remote corner. (Or never got unpacked from the sea of monotonous brown boxes in the first place). I went into my studio for the first time in a very long while. It's a space—my space; it's just much smaller and, well, different.
From my "studio" I have a beautiful view of an old farm with a smattering of cows; my dog is determined to make friends with said cows. I know this won't happen, but she is the epitome of hopefulness. Sometimes in the morning, the fog rolls over and through the grass and trees. I love that view, it has been a balm for my torn soul.
So, out comes the silver, the stones, and the torch. I piddle around, not doing much of anything. I become distracted and start to look at catalogs. Then, I rummage through beads and string some insignificant bracelets. Make 20 pairs of earrings. I realize how much I have spent on beads and silently vow not to be persuaded by the shiny objects ever again.
This is not working.
Several weeks later my husband and I were at a work related Holiday party. All were invited to bring a gift to exchange so, I chose to bring one of my beaded bracelets to exchange. The excitement that ensued when the bracelet was unwrapped was completely unexpected. "Did you make this?" "Can I come to home?" I cannot tell you how much I needed those comments; it was just what my muse needed to be coaxed from her dark little corner.
It is a new year. I am ready. I can be creative.