Post-exhibition misery should be familiar to me by now but always takes me by surprise. This time was the worst yet - I put away my paints, cleared the table in the studio/living room, and sat for days reading novels and eating biscuits.
I went to Greece and swam and looked at a different landscape. I met up with artist friends and talked about future possibilities. I talked with a curator and saw things through a different lens. And I felt the energy returning.
I wrote my journal, my morning pages (as in The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron). I read about painting. And I allowed Simone de Beauvoir to prod and push me into action. (I’ll be writing more here about how I use her words to spur me into action.)
Then I do the first thing that comes to mind, without censoring. And this time with TIna Turner playing loudly too.