Blank Canvas

7 Nov

During my twenties, I painted a lot. At the time, I hadn’t accumulated many possessions or clutter so I always had my water color paper and paints out on the table ready to go if the spirit moved me. I tried to keep my living environment clean and simple so that like a blank canvas, there was room in my psyche to create.


To give you an idea of just how clutter free I lived take note of the following: When I moved to San Francisco right after college, everything I owned fit into my Volkswagon Jetta. Then when I moved from San Francisco to New York City, everything I owned fit into two large army duffle bags (with the exception of books which I shipped). I don’t live like that anymore.

Last week I must have taken at least ten boxes of books and endless bags of clothing to Good Will. I also threw out tons of crap and hauled off a futon mattress and frame. It was exhausting and disturbing to me how cluttered my life had/has become. How does that bode for creating, not just art but the art of one’s life? How can new dimensions emerge if there is simply no space? I feel like with every item purged, some layer of energetic debris was also being tossed. And there is more to go through – filing cabinets, notebooks and do I dare shred two enormous tubs of journals spanning my life since I was eight? Gad.

I see light now on clean wood floors and think – hmmm. The lighting is good for painting…. Maybe it’s time for life to be a blank canvas again.

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