Inspiration seems to come only when I am about to give up or right when I can't seem to be able to solve the problem. I usually wake up in the middle of the night or sit in the wee hours of the morning with a frantic need to purge. Everything I have been mulling over, obsessing about, dealing with, sweating out, pondering, placating, and praying for seems to come into focus and all of a sudden I can see! The solution was right there...all along...waiting for when I needed it the most. I had been holding on to a story that I had written a while ago about a fellow artist whose studio I visited. On the day of my visit, it was windy and cold. We sat in the middle of her studio clutching our coffee mugs and just looked. We looked around at her supplies and student work. There were piles of papers and portfolios she had to go through. Still lives were set up in different corners of the studio, ready for her classes. Pencils and paintbrushes were on every surface. To an artist, this was where it all happened. You just had to sit and wait for it...inspiration.
Well, I left her studio feeling warmer than when I went in. I thought that the space was an ideal combination of home and work...or is it home and passion? Because what I experienced and subsequently kept to myself was a moment of quiet contemplation. These moments do not happen often for me. I usually fill my days with to do lists. I mark my time by pick up and drop off schedules, deadlines and commitments. I kept this moment just for me. I didn't share it right away for fear that the magic would disappear.
It took a while for me to let go, but the other morning it happened. I had waited long enough and I couldn't keep it to myself any longer. So here it is. My visit to artist and teacher, Julie Duba's, studio. I hope that you can understand why I guarded my experience for a while.
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