New year, blank canvas


baby's first Christmas | 2013 Christmas
Learning to slow down, my daughter's first Christmas 2013



Everyone always says the start of a new year is like a blank canvas.  And that's, generally speaking, supposed to be a positive metaphor.  But sometimes blank canvases are overwhelming.  They sit, quietly and unassuming enough, in the corner of my studio as a nagging reminder of the time I used to have to create, to make, to DO.  Rather than invite me to create, they seem to mock my self-label of "committed studio artist."  


Every year in leiu of a new year's resolution, a friend of mine chooses one word to focus on during the year.  Borrowing her tradition, I'm going to meditate on the word PATIENCE for the next 363 days.  Mostly, I anticipate needing to be more patient with myself, extending grace when another week goes by with little time spent in the studio making progress on a half-started piece, let alone touching the stack of blank canvases that are neatly tucked away collecting dust.  {Christ, have mercy on me and grant me the patience to juggle my responsibilities and commitments of being a wife, mother, friend and artist each and every day.}


So 2014 - as I think about you and what you have in store for me and my little family, I commit to patiently tackling each day as it comes.  Incomplete grant proposals, napkin sketches of new bodies of work, just-missed exhibition entry deadlines, half-started lesson plans - you don't get to mock me and rack me with guilt.  Not this year.