EDLM Diary September 24, 2020 Muncie.
An atypical day. Woke in futon exile bleariness, saving my wife from my snoring. No classes to teach today. Instead, I undo a decision from last week. Searching for something, empty for some reason I don’t understand, or maybe it’s a healthy pursuit of experience, I get into periods where I obsess over a certain thing I think I need, then I get it, and often return it. The urge for change maybe, a desire to make something “better” when so much is terrible right now, not in my private life but in the world at large. So part of this day meant driving to Ft. Wayne to return a guitar purchase. Three hours wasted.
An atypical day. I go straight from Ft. Wayne to Anderson. I’m picking up a painting of mine from a recent art show at the Anderson Museum of Art. That’s not new. What is new is that another painting of mine which they purchased last year (my first museum sale! Ok, I know that’s bragging, but still) is on display as part of a new show of the museum’s purchases over the years. It’s an odd feeling to see something I’ve created that now doesn’t belong to me. It’s like an alien thing. We once had a relationship, that painting and me, but now we’ve moved on. Still, it was thrilling to see it there. I felt like a real artist. It’s the first art show I’m in where I wasn’t entering as part of a juried contest. I’m also a big fan of mid-century abstract expressionist work, and there’s an exhibit in the adjoining room of work by Larry Rivers, an artist I admire from that era. For a brief moment, I feel like I belong in the world of art. My work, and that of a recognized and celebrated artist, are hanging in the same museum. The fact that I feel this way is certainly tinged with a range of emotions. A need to validate my shift in the last few years to thinking of myself as an artist. A need to feel like I belong to a community I value. A need to validate that making marks and colors on surfaces isn’t a dumb, frivolous thing to find pleasure in. Yes, it’s a small regional museum in Indiana, no I should not be excited about this, but it’s all I’ve got. It’s a small thing, but meaningful to me, yet I’m somewhat embarrassed that it’s as meaningful as it is. I can’t decide if that’s healthy or pathetic. I suppose I don’t want to admit sometimes that I need that external validation more than I wish. Most days I don’t. Maybe that’s normal in most people. I don’t know. But it’s what I’m feeling today.
After a lot of driving, the day returns to more typical rhythms. I spend time in the yard playing with the dog. I have a weekly online hangout with some artist friends. It’s a small community, but valuable to me. I relax and hangout with my children. I make dinner. My wife and I watch a show series we’re into. I like to draw while we do that. More mark making.
I find my mind drifting to guitars again. The quest for tone, or some vague I don’t know what, goes on. My wife calls it “the churn”. Maybe it’s just my small way of balancing the Apollonian and the Dionysian. Maybe that’s ok. Either way, it was part of this day.