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During the 10 years I spent making things, I was an artist wannabe, an artist manqué, an artist groupie.
But let's face it. With all my fibre arts I was at best a half-decent craftswoman; never an artist. I recently heard a description of an artist's little studio filled with tapestry, paints, clay, paper—all the accoutrements of different artistic modes—and all necessary so that she can address the urges of each day. I have lived like that, in a way, so surrounded by yarns and fabric that I was often overwhelmed—spoiled for choice. And then it was over. I couldn't stand the jumble and the mess. Now all the yarns and fabric are gone, except for some precious examples that reproach me for no longer knowing how to make something of them.
It took me a long time, didn't it?, to find who I am. I take that back. I have been many, many people through my life. The difference between then and now is that I was then always searching, always dissatisfied. Always wanting to know who I really was.
And here's where I am now. I know who I really am, today—but I also know that I am still continually changing and I might not be the same "me" tomorrow. But what I have learned (how many years has it taken?) is that that's okay. It is in my nature (maybe in yours, too, or maybe not) to be fluid. Glimpsing a photo of sheep in their blue fleece-protecting coats, I interpreted it as a picture of large boulders in a fast-running blue stream. And that's how I see my life now. Some days I am the boulder. Some days I am the rushing stream, on its way, on its way.
But I am always and ever who I am, because that is the person I take with me on the journey.
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com
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