Friday night we went to an art show featuring work by Liz Noble- it was amazing. Not just the artist & the subject matter, although yes- I did love those, but the feeling it gave me to be there looking at the creative expression of someone who worked so long & hard on these paintings… that is an awfully blissed-out feeling. Art-drunk, I’ll call it. I was art-drunk on Friday. With some really smart, talented & artsy people by the way.
I wanted to physically walk up & hug the paintings but that is not allowed. Completely reasonable rule; otherwise you might find a gallery full of professionally misplaced creative types sobbing uncontrollably with their arms wrapped around a canvas, “Yes, I’ll be careful with my tears & sop them up as I leave.”
Upon leaving this place & these wonderful creative people; stumbling my art-drunk self back home, I started to “come down” from the creative intoxication & became really irritated with myself. I fell into this crazy kind of love with art the first time I walked into a gallery as a teenager. Why would anyone go without something that made them that happy for so long? My self-inflicted frustration is not so much regret as it is fear. I don’t really regret the choices that got me to this point in life because I’m where I should be. Different decisions in the past may have kept me engaged in my creativity but surrounded me with entirely different people. No thank you. Surely at some point the reasoning for this circuitous route will make sense.
My problem is this: if I could just drop something from my life for so many years that made me feel this good, will it happen again? Will I wake up & another decade will have passed & I have gone 10 years without art or an important friendship or (gasp) chocolate? Yes, this is all a bit over-dramatic. Seriously though, how does someone adore something this much & not be around it for so long?
Don’t ask me, because clearly I don’t have the answer to that one. What I do know is this: I need to be creative & be around creative people. Someone hand me a schedule of classes at the Arkansas Arts Center... sign me up. And I'm planning on being intoxicated by the end of each class, because I heart being art-drunk.