It has been a long while since the last art-making spree. Years, perhaps, since I felt the desire to draw, to ink, to watercolour. The frenetic pace of creating resources - marking - attending meetings - crafting forms - giving extra lessons - handling all sorts of administrative matters - in essence, a seastorm of work - has just washed away all other interests. Writing, drawing, reading, jogging, all these take a backseat to the call for sacrifice, to be noble at the expense of oneself.
How easy it is to be two-dimensional when work begins. All energies are poured into one's profession, leaving little by way of one's interest. The desire at the end of a working day is to watch mindless videos, one after another.
Work more, work harder, work longer, work after work hours, work on weekends. It's challenging, somewhat, to resist the relentless push towards greater productivity. Especially for a Type A workaholic. Is work the opiate of the mindless?
Whatever we choose to water will grow and whatever else, wither. Naturally. I wish that I have something more interesting to offer that this bit of dime-store philosophy. Since I don't, I might as well offer another platitude: Inertia can be a boulder, challenging to overcome.
After chatting with friends who do art and write poems - "you only need pens and paper to draw and write" - "your fears/ insecurities/ self-doubts are imaginary" - "it can't be simpler" - I understand that I've been giving myself excuses. There's always work, work, work but no one will be eulogised for the amount of work they do. And it's healthier to have interests independent of one's work.
Since October, I've been trying to rediscover lost interests. Enough with the excuses. Now, here, there's time and room for growth.
Here's a series of plant-infused sketches:
How easy it is to be two-dimensional when work begins. All energies are poured into one's profession, leaving little by way of one's interest. The desire at the end of a working day is to watch mindless videos, one after another.
Work more, work harder, work longer, work after work hours, work on weekends. It's challenging, somewhat, to resist the relentless push towards greater productivity. Especially for a Type A workaholic. Is work the opiate of the mindless?
Whatever we choose to water will grow and whatever else, wither. Naturally. I wish that I have something more interesting to offer that this bit of dime-store philosophy. Since I don't, I might as well offer another platitude: Inertia can be a boulder, challenging to overcome.
After chatting with friends who do art and write poems - "you only need pens and paper to draw and write" - "your fears/ insecurities/ self-doubts are imaginary" - "it can't be simpler" - I understand that I've been giving myself excuses. There's always work, work, work but no one will be eulogised for the amount of work they do. And it's healthier to have interests independent of one's work.
Since October, I've been trying to rediscover lost interests. Enough with the excuses. Now, here, there's time and room for growth.
Here's a series of plant-infused sketches:
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