Resolutions are the work of a thoughtful moment and the habitual disillusionment of a lifetime. This is an anti-resolution post to remind us of the things that really matter and work and play of a life spent well.
The Artist Date is a weekly, solo adventure with no agenda or goal other than to ‘fill the well.’ A well that, for creatives, runs the real risk of depletion without attention. So, I struck out. Just me, my camera, and 12,000 sweaty strangers.
Do we tell better stories with our left or right brain? Do we tell better stories with our left or right hands?
This exercise is already stirring things that have been impatiently asleep within me while I've been distracted at the millstone of responsible living in a recovering economy.
The awkwardness of squelch-ripping your bare thigh from a leather seat in summer doesn't lose its moxie when used as a metaphor for my life, at present.
"It is not the critic who counts; not the wo/man who points out how the strong woman or man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better."
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