The Artist's Way

scared and angered when continually put off. Children, as
we all know, do not deal well with “Later. Not now.”
Since my artist is a child, the natural child within, I must
make some concessions to its sense of timing. Some
concessions does not mean total irresponsibility. What it
means is letting the artist have quality time, knowing that if I
let it do what it wants to it will cooperate with me in doing
what I need to do.
Sometimes I will write badly, draw badly, paint badly,
perform badly. I have a right to do that to get to the other
side. Creativity is its own reward.
As an artist, I must be very careful to surround myself
with people who nurture my artist—not people who try to
overly domesticate it for my own good. Certain friendships
will kick off my artistic imagination and others will deaden
it.
I may be a good cook, a rotten housekeeper, and a strong
artist. I am messy, disorganized except as pertains to
writing, a demon for creative detail, and not real interested
in details like polished shoes and floors.
To a large degree my life is my art, and when it gets dull,
so does my work. As an artist, I may poke into what other
people think of as dead ends: a punk band that I
mysteriously fall for, a piece of gospel music that hooks my
inner ear, a piece of red silk I just like and add to a nice
outfit, thereby “ruining it.”
As an artist, I may frizz my hair or wear weird clothes. I
may spend too much money on perfume in a pretty blue