I got up at 10, ran a bath and soaked for about an hour, reading.
I've been reading Cat's Eye, by Margaret Atwood and although some of it bores me to tears, other bits are really interesting and I've found a lot of stuff in the character's memories that I can relate to. From memories of camping to my brother's chemistry set, I find myself thinking about stuff I didn't even know I remembered, which is what the book is all about anyway.
Plus the character is a painter and there are some interesting things that I also witnessed and thought while in art school. The concept that she and the other students think of themselves as painters and not 'artists' because people who call themselves artists are just pretentious pricks. There was a similar vibe in the school I studied in and I've always shied away from labeling anything I do as 'art'. You're either a painter or a sculptor or a designer or whatever and your job is to paint or sculpt, etc. If it's art or not shouldn't really be up to you because it's a social label. From the point of view of the person doing it, it should be about expressing something - a thought, a feeling - and not about making art.
It's also made me think about the choices I've made and why. I went to art school but ended up following a path that would allow me to get paid for my work instead of pursuing something simply because of the need for a creative outlet. The truth is that I never took it seriously. If I was to chose without restrictions I would have studied music or drama. But that was not a 'realistic' choice. College was a way to get a better job afterwards and not a place to find yourself and experiment, as it should have been. It's a typical middle class attitude.
I always thought that these choices were made, at an early age, because I was very realistic and sensible. But that's not really true. It's the way I was educated. I've always been a dreamed but I armed myself with a protective layer of practical and sensible behaviour which I can only guess must have been in order to get my parents approval.
I know my parents think they were very encouraging and allowed me to chose what I wanted but that's not really true. They were highly critical and to this day I don't draw because of all the pressure my father made on me and how he'd spend all the time criticizing what I did. I started hiding drawing from him at a point just because I'd be too afraid of what he'd say. It became easier to just not do it.
Music has been my one truly free form of expression. I can say things in songs I wouldn't dare any other way and I don't care what anyone else thinks as long as I like it. Why can't I be like that about other things? I think it's because it's something I developed later and did by myself, without intrusion. And so I was able to experiment free of criticism.
It's a common belief that criticism is a good thing but I think it has to be used with judgment because it can be used as a tool to help someone improve but it can also damage someone's self esteem, especially at a young age. It should always be done alongside encouragement and the good points should also be pointed out. This, I'm afraid, my father never learned and I've only learned it later in life after doing some damage myself, sadly and unknowingly, through the same pattern of behaviour.
So I guess a book can't be bad if it gets me thinking about all this and even making me consider doing creative things again. I've been too wrapped up in my work lately and since I have to please clients who insist they know best and end up ruining my layouts, I have to find creative outlets where I have the final say, otherwise I go mad.
I worked a bit more on one of the songs before lunch.
After lunch I had to trim down one of the ferns that seems to be dying for some reason. It didn't like being moved into the living room. |