Fallow time

The last few months have been a bit of a dry time for me in the studio. A mixture of happy and not-so-happy life events have combined to create an emotional roller coaster that’s left me feeling rather overwhelmed and unproductive. On the positive side, Dan and I got legally married and escaped to the Caribbean for a week of warmth with friends. That happiness stood in sharp juxtaposition to other events, such as the death of a friend, work stress, and the seasonal malaise that seems to be epidemic this winter. Given my temperament, unproductive and overwhelmed live just around the corner from guilt, obsession, and worry. Not pretty, but I’m working on that. Like most everyone this year, I’m eagerly awaiting the permanent arrival of spring—not this 70’s-one-day-and-snow-the-next stuff. Spring is about renewal and rebirth, and yet I’m trying to look at this not-so-great studio time as fallow time. Good stewardship of the land requires that a field not be planted every season or always with the same crop. Periodically, cropland needs to be allowed to regenerate, often through planting with a fallow crop that promotes soil enrichment. We too need time to regenerate. I feel that I’ve harvested a lot of good things from the my field—my studio—over the past few years, and yet it's so easy to fall prey to the expectation of continuous growth and continuous harvest.

So for now, I’ve got a commission piece is process, and I’m experimenting with ideas for a new series—and, I’m trying to be patient with myself. That’s easier said than done, but I’m trying.