Just sent my son off to summer school (which we cleverly disguised as "summer camp") this morning. He is no dummy. He cried last night when we told him, and again this morning. He said, "It's going to be filled with dummies. I'm not stupid." Poor guy. He is 6, going into 2nd grade, and has a "non-verbal learning disorder," whatever that means.
What that means is, he has a hard time learning the traditional way. What it means is, he is always going ot be a little different. And now, at 6, that's not cool. Later on, when he's an artist or a forensic pathologist, slicing into dead bodies to find out what happened (his dream job !), different will serve him well.
I have 45 minutes to get ready for art camp. I love, love my art studio, but I wish I could spend the summer with my kids, lounging in our pajamas or hanging out at the lake. Ah well. Passion drives you. I want to have a successful business. I want to make art. I want to teach. But more than that, I want to write poetry.
Then there's the copycats. Two studios in my own town, offering similar stuff. And now one in the next city. It's great to be admired, and it is a free society, but, man, I hate capitalism! I can't figure out if it's pride in what I created (there were no teaching children's art studios when I started) or if it's jealousy, or fear of someone doing better.
Sometimes I even feel this way about poetry. Sometimes. Not often. But sometimes I look at all the books on store shelves and all the great poems in journals, and I think--why bother.
Perhaps this is a creative dilemma faced by all artists. Who knows?
All I know is, it feels good to let it all out. Maybe know I can get back to the business of poetry. And art. It's been too long.
Silver lining. Glass half-full. I've only not been writing for about two weeks. And even then, I've written two or three poems. I just haven't edited or sent anything out. I have been reading though!
Goal for the week: 2 new art lessons; type 3 new poems from old journals; send out poems to 1 pub; make an artist trading card.
Maybe I'll use the blog as my artist way/morning pages. Lose the funk. Get the art party crunk.
Anyone else having summer doldrums?
Labels: if imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, my muse, rambling, son, why don't we all look alike?