I’ve lately found myself unable to get to bed before 1 AM. My mind is swirling around with racing thoughts that don’t subside when the house quiets down for the evening.
I’ve taken advantage of this time and energy by working on a considerable amount of art. I’ve found this process almost meditative. If I was to be completely honest, the ability to process my thoughts in this way is holding together the border of being a normal person and crumbling into a pile under the weight of my own mind. I’m not as prolific as I’d like to be, but something is better than nothing.
During my mental health crisis a few years ago, I was incapacitated enough to draw a small amount of disability support. I spent most of that money on marijuana and art supplies. They helped me get better more than any doctor could.
Of course, I am under no illusion that I am particularly skilled or talented. If I’m trapped in the midst of a manic episode I may think of myself as some sort of misunderstood Van Gogh character (he is believed to have been bipolar) but when held up to objective reality it just doesn’t measure up. I physically cringe at many of my creations.
Yes, I am enrolled in an arts program, but it it really to help me acquire the skills necessary to make the lines that express my own view. I will very likely never be a famous artist and my work is hacky at best. I often say that my art looks impressive only to people who have no idea what to look for.
Anyway, I’ve been happily toiling away at a giant watercolor painting of a tree in my local park. I’ll be starting tonight on hand painting the first of thousands of individual leaves.
I’m so looking forward to the mindlessness of it all.