Do You Even Paint, Though?

I have a confession.  I feel a lot of guilt when I consider this section of my blog.
My dad is an artist and he so generously entrusted me with the same genes. But I don’t use them nearly as often as I would like. So this is a kick up the arse from me to me.

That’s what I intend to do.

I’ll be sharing paintings, drawings, and some digital illustrations, to accompany the written pieces featured on the other pages of this blog, partly to keep a nice bit of coherence between the words and the pictures, but also because this way I can’t blame lack of production on lack of inspiration. I am writing my own inspiration. The art is already there, between the lines, it just needs to be re-imagined and re-packaged. There is no excuse.

I think what stops me from picking up a pencil or paintbrush as readily as I would take to a keyboard, is the very fact that I don’t pick up a pencil or paintbrush as readily as I take to a keyboard. Creative projects are relaxing and they purge the soul. But they can also be exhausting. And keeping up writing, painting, and having enough productivity left to hold down a full-time job, is a daunting task for my small and twitchy brain.

Writing has taken priority ever since University. I was never asked to produce a still life watercolour during my degree but I sure as hell was required to write, and write a lot. Over time I think you begin to worry that you’ve lost that skill you once had. You convince yourself that leaving it dormant somehow means it will have disappeared.

And the only way I can get over this, what I like to call, anxiarty, is by throwing myself head-first into the one thing that I used to love most.

That doesn’t sound so bad anyway, does it?…

– Telle

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