It amuses me.

Part of being an artist is exposing yourself to your audience. Raw unfiltered bits of your soul, just out there for everyone to see. But often those glimpses come with little or no explanation, so it is subject to interpretation. Then in a way, the art becomes the viewer's own experience and has little or nothing to do with the artist anymore. So perhaps being an artist is a little like being a psychic medium, merely channeling energy for others, serving others needs. Maybe even a tad like a prostitute. Used and tossed aside. Unless, of course, the artist is somehow benefitting from this process as well. Maybe the viewer is using the artist for said experience. But perhaps, the artist is also using the viewer, maybe even without their knowledge. Reclaiming their identity. Reinventing themselves.

With every highly inspiring day or period of time, for me, is generally followed by a crash, exhaustion. I pour so much of myself into what I do, and then I withdraw, tired of it all. But then out of my own ashes I find some new interest or inspiration and the cycle begins again. Never dead, just overwhelmed. Then underwhelmed.

Sometimes I think you're not listening. Maybe I should start over.

Its like having an intense crush on someone. Butterflies when they speak to you, or when you even think about them.

And then BAM.

One day it just hits you. You're over it. Then a stretch of time passes since you've spoken to them or even thought about them, something reminds you, and you rediscover that its still there, just wasn’t on the forefront of your mind. Ah, but its fun! Its certainly a magical feeling to look at a piece that I made years ago and recapture that same lust. Powerful. Addicting. Hott rush. Like being 13 years old again and having the biggest crush of your life, legs turning into noodles, sweaty palms, heart racing. Just thinking about it now makes my toes tingle...

Do I have your attention yet?

I can hear you breathing.

I can feel your hot breath on my ear, my neck. Wanting. Urgent.

That is what I’m talking about. The chase. The buildup. The toe-curling climax. The bittersweet afterglow, accompanied by a hint of let down that the whole affair has come full circle. Looking for that next fix. Searching. Lost and abandoned. Then like a slap across the face when you least expect it, the next one arrives. And it feels amazing, like it will never end.

But you know better now. Not 13 anymore. Made enough art by now. Been through this before. Know its not going to last. Better to just let go and enjoy the moment. Lose yourself in it. Forget about tomorrow and make some damn art.