Over again

It was Thursday morning and I was recording. 

I went to bed early last night. I spent a lot of time after work in the library organizing my schedule, school notes and priorities. When I left around 8 p.m. I felt a great deal of accomplishment. I was proud of myself for putting in extra work after a long workday. I went for a short run afterwards to stretch my legs and while they burned, my body thanked me later as it flooded with endorphins. 

Lorraine gave me some advanced homework as she wants to better prep me for my lessons and another group class that I still have not discovered how I am going to pay for. This morning I finally got myself settled on the way to work and sang along to Miley Cyrus’s version of Jolene. The recording was of terrible quality as I haven’t sang in days and sadly didn’t know all the words. I should have further recorded, but became discouraged. 

Today seemed like another long, typical Thursday. I attempted to go to the library after work again today, but I got out of work late and by time I changed into casual clothes and got a bite to eat it was about 7 p.m. and the library closes at 8 p.m. I decided to come home instead. I hate coming home sometimes because I get distracted and don’t accomplish much. After lounging about for a while, I tidied up my room, threw some laundry in and finally got inspired. 

Back when I was in college full time as an undergraduate I was very passionate about art. I took painting classes, drawing classes and an imaging journal class. I surprised myself with what I created and accomplished in those classes. When my face was covered in paint and I had decorated the walls of her studio in paint blotches, my professor repeatedly told me I was a true artist. 

After graduation and my move back home, everything got disheveled and I stopped drawing, painting and journaling all together. I tried to paint again, but felt I had lost my spark as I stood in dark, dusty confines of my parent’s basement. I felt like I lost myself. 

Somewhere between doing laundry tonight and cleaning my room, I came across some old hand outs from my drawing class. They were illustrations of animals completed in technical pen. They weren’t mine-my professor had handed out samples to everyone for a project we were working on and I kept them. I enjoyed working with technical pen and if I ever get my act together I’ll post some samples of my work on here. I even posted these images up around my bed to inspire me moving forward.

Anyways I picked up the images of the antelope and highland bull we were given and remembered how much I used to love to drawing in pen. So I decided I would try again. I pulled out my drawing pad, went down to the basement to retrieve my desk lamp, dusted it off, came back upstairs, plugged the lamp in, put on some music and began again. I tried to draw a simple apple that had been sitting on the corner of desk. It came out alright. I titled the piece, “Rusty,” as I am. 

However the whole experience got me thinking that perhaps I was and had always been an artist and simply lost my way. And it was time, this was my chance to start over again.