One of the most difficult things to pin down in the life of any creative person is focusing on Just. One. Thing. It's part of what makes us the way we are: our brains are constantly seeking new sources of inspiration, delighting at experimenting with a new way of writing, of sketching, of talking, thinking ahead to another project, and another, and another—and all the while working to keep up with the tasks at hand.
As I've gotten older (and, I like to think, a bit wiser) I find the collaboration of ideas, the pursuing of my passions, to be culminating into a smaller scope. To be clarifying themselves, so to speak. I like that. It's exhilarating.
I've joked much of my life about my "Three A's: Art, Author, and Actor", with "Animals" being the invisible (but ever present) add-on. Art, acting and writing—authoring, to keep the alliteration intact—have been constants. They've always been there, even when I was doing other things as a means to get the bills paid. They wouldn't sit idly in the corner. One or another was always making itself seen in doodles during meetings, in stories written on old envelopes from the floorboards of my car, and in funny voices I'd use on the intercom at work, just to keep things interesting.
The art part took precedence again recently, thanks in large part to something horrific we've all been experiencing. Namely, Covid-19, and the clusterf*ck history will categorize as the year of our Lord, 2020. The unspeakable loss, the unimaginable division and the seemingly endless new threats that were introduced on an almost daily basis: well, as with many of us, these things shook me to my core. They caused me to look at things differently. They caused me to have to completely re-think what I was doing, where I was going, and to do course-corrections in real time.
Being forced out of a comfort zone, looking at priorities, and trying to make sense of it all also led me back to something I'd let largely fall by the wayside. Painting. I needed a healthy emotional outlet, and was wanting an extra-special surprise for my fella's big 5-0. I pulled out the paints, and, as some say, the rest is history.
My day to day is now primarily focused on creating: creating something to spread light and joy with my art, creating characters and emotions and imaginary worlds with my writing, and creating feelings and tones and engagement with my acting.
The Joy Garage is what I've come to call my collection of paintings. Although my style can be recognized from piece to piece, the work itself is largely emotive and organic, each piece pretty uniquely its own. I genuinely paint what I'm feeling, which can result in some delightful compositions, and, from time to time, some really unexpected surprises. Some are good. Some are very good. Some will remain in my studio to be dabbled with, reflected on, giggled about and leaned against the wall until further notice. The thing is this: whether they're good or not good, they all have something to say, to communicate, to convey. Even those that aren't so good have voices, and I'm glad to have them there, and I'm glad to let them speak.
It feels as though things have beenhttps://www.facebook.com/SusanCrawfordArtist fully anchored in place for me. The Joy Garage feels like that last puzzle piece: the one you thought the dog might've eaten, but then ended up being stuck in the cardboard flap of the box. You find it. You place it. And aaaaah, there it is.
I do hope you enjoy the addition of the paintings. The books will continue: they sure keep wanting to be written, and I'm doing my best to get the words out.
Life is so very, very good. I am so very, very grateful.
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