Work
I have been working very hard. In the last six months I finished a 7 foot soft sculpture, completed and installed a 5’ x 7’ ceramic mural, put together a three figure life size ceramic piece that I had not touched in 25 years, and created seven new ceramic murals. I also continued the usual with my gallery Claireworks. Proving that at 72 years of age that I could still work.
Now, I am sleeping a great deal, lack luster and I am depressed as in postpartum depression.” Now what? “ says that part of me that always wonders: “What does this all mean?”
In predicable cycles I become inspired with an idea or several big creative ideas. If I commit to the project then my mind is absorbed, my time aligned. I put all doubts and worries aside. For the next few months or the greater part of a year, all the grieves and emotional challenges that usually haunt me subside.
Some of my friends who are my age have retired. Observing them as they continue, I wonder if the benefits of leisure out weigh the lack of stimulus and connection. I read that many people find the retirement years the peak of their life. I wonder.
My mother continued to work until she passed away at almost 85. In spite of failing health, she continued to teach, keep herself attractive, her apartment in order and her checkbook current. Work shaped her days, made her apply her “face” in the morning and diligently cream her skin at night.
I am not very much like my mother. Yet, like my dancer mother my work is the core of my life. My relationship with community, my children and my friends have been shaped by my drive for expression.
I have learned new skills and reached into myself in significant ways this last year. I am proud and satisfied with the outcome of my creativity.
I know that when my energy is restored that I will again be seized by a project. I am grateful to my muse. Work.