Sometimes I get frustrated at my writing here, especially as so often it seems to be only a litany of what I am doing and what I have done. It’s not the creative journaling that I envisioned from the beginning and which I managed to do for some years (on and off, obviously). I sometimes feel creatively stifled, but I know that I’m the only one that is judging. And, of course, the one doing the stifling, if that is really what it should be called. It’s like writer’s block of the creative kind. I can still write but only lists, plans, calendar fillings, dates, events, and then, afterward, what happened, what I did, what I thought, or what I experienced.
It’s not that it’s boring, exactly, it’s just that I expect more of myself. Once upon a time, I felt like I had energy and time to be creative in so many ways, at the same time. I drew, I painted, I sang, I read, I crafted, I wrote. Now, I often seem to have only the inclination to tackle one of those areas at a time. It’s like all my multi-tasking talents have gone into work (where, granted, I am also creative) or projects.
Did you know that once upon a time I did embroidery? Now, I no longer remember any of the stitches and couldn’t do a French knot if you paid me. There’s a large framed piece (seashells) that I did, which I haven’t hung up in years.
Did you know that once upon a time I did calligraphy? I still have bottles of ink and scores of pens and nibs and several posters of beautifully lettered poetry that are shut up in old art portfolios in the closet.
Did you know that once upon a time I did quilling? I think the last piece I did was Anders’ niece’s name in pinks and yellows for a sign for her door for a birthday when she was quite small. She’s an adult now, living in her own apartment, and I’m pretty sure that sign is long gone. I still have packs of paper and the quilling tools in my craft collection.
I used to write poetry. It’s been years. I used to work on a collage book. It’s been years. At one point (in high school, but still) I even tried macramé, though that was short-lived. 😀 I’ve always been creative, in some way, and I still am, but I don’t seem to find the time or motivation these days to indulge any of the time-consuming, non-digital art forms that I used to.
Nowadays, I am most creative with my photography, which I share mostly on Instagram. It’s “only” iPhone and iPad photos, though, nothing sophisticated. I love taking photos of flowers, of nature, of my kids.
I am creative at work, where I design marketing materials and pour my heart into Powerpoints. That’s kind of sad, since it’s nothing that lasts and nothing that’s ultimately satisfying as an artist, but I’m proud of the work I do there, and I love my job, so there’s that.
And, I guess, even though it’s not consistent, I am creative here. I love writing and I continue to journal here, even though my audience has withered and my frequency has diminished; blogging has changed drastically since the glory years when I enthusiastically joined in and spent hours reading about other people’s lives, commenting on their posts, making online friends far and wide and writing about my life and my thoughts. Time changes everything, so I supposed it’s only natural that the ways I am creative now are different from the ways I was creative years ago.
Sometimes I think I’ll have more time again to be creative in the traditional ways once I retire. After all, I’ll have more time to fill, right? Either way, there will always be creativity in my life, whether I’m reading books, looking at paintings, illustration, crafts and photography or making my own, writing this journal or finding my way back to other art forms that I once had time for.