I’ve been a little forlorn recently, thus my profound absence from this interwebular space. Well, that’s not entirely true, I’ve just been busy running in and out of London town enjoying lots of free pieces of theatre and art as part of the Coming Up Festival. It was indeed immense and I think pretty much every event I went to ended up producing a photo for my 365 Project.
The whole festival was very inspiring and I’m struggling with the duality of my situation. I haven’t really been able to sit down and process not only what I saw (and consequently what I thought and felt) but also how attending the festival has affected the way I wake up in the morning.
There were quite a few acts I really enjoyed and that were so powerful I felt a surge of electricty, a push inside me that said, “get out there, do that. You can do that, maybe not half as well, but you should bloody well try.” Isn’t that what it’s all about?
Being back in London is disastrously different to the London I knew as a child. Somehow New York changed me….all for the positive, I grew into this solid and confident artist. I knew myself, I recognised my own voice and had a clear indication of the things I wanted to say. I knew people who would help me express myself and was part of a community that not only supported and praised me but also was there to share the lows and to constructively criticise. When I realised I had no choice but to return home, I was somewhat excited about re-discovering the city that I’ve been in so much awe of…but somehow I just don’t know how to be an artist here. London is overwhelming now. With so much potential and so many connections yet to be made I must admit, I have been frightened into being a mere observer.
I think as artists we ignore the simple rules of humanity. I’ve always fought against the concept of routine, but as with everything, too much of a good thing gets tiring. I’m tired of waking up every morning knowing that the world is my oyster and that I can do anything I want (within reason…finances are always the constraining factor) but somehow without a job and without a particular structure all creativity melts away. Too much opportunity slays motivation. I struggle to navigate my way through all the job opportunities showing up on my twitter feed and instead opt to bake, cook, gym. All safe, rejection-free activities that will result in only boosting my housewife hungry ego and neglecting the path that will actually take me to where I want to be. I assure myself that my quirky status updates are the extent of my creative calibre and a little part of me is ok with that.
“Today my motivation extends only as far as the nearest chocolate bar.” However, tomorrow will be different because with every tippity-tap of the keys on my sparkly white keyboard (I cleaned it today, another form of methodical procrastination) I grow stronger in the belief that given time and enough inspiration I can blossom into all that I want to be. It took me a substantial amount of time in New York City to develop into the person I left there and I know that I don’t have to swim across the ocean in order to reclaim myself (ok, I’m not positively ruling out that option…) all it requires is another chunk of time (and probably to move out of the hell-hole that is Essex).
Come on, help me out tinternet. Throw something at me that I can really sink my teeth into…