Life has rushed past recently stomping over plans, thoughts and intentions, but the momentum of chaos has still delivered me to a good place. I’m in a gallery with new work on the walls and being here feels like stepping free of congealed glue. A sense that despite truly awful global events and challenging personal commitments, my work has gained its own autonomy and resilience, able rise above messy, sticky life.
To keep moving with my work though, I may need to make a new plan or at least adapt. I’m increasingly spending more time caring for my father, its a push pull thing, I want to spend time with him and for the remainder of his life to be what he wants it to be, but sometimes it feels as though my own thoughts and energy are slowly suffocating, eaten away in a reflection of the cancer and Alzheimer’s consuming him. I want too, to avoid a sudden crisis where everything falls into a void, gobbled up by unmanaged care needs.
But the feeling that my work is on its own journey, that it has a life of its own, that it wants to go somewhere, that it has intention even if I haven’t grasped what that is, makes it easier to reserve enough of myself just for that. I may only be able to get in my work space occasionally, but i know that when I do my work and I are there for each other.
