It's been a year and a half since I wrote something. I don't even know if I can muster much even from the inflated residuals lingering from the days when I thought I had something to say. These last two years have been as dense and intense as any of my formative years combined. I learned what it is to have something to lose. I married her. She's about to be a mother. I'm about to be a father. I'm fortunate to have a business that's growing at a comfortable pace as I learn to keep up. I'm not wondering and panicking about how to find work. My abilities have improved well past suffering from self doubt. I know now that what I offer is good. But I'm missing out on some creative time. Maybe I'm not missing out on the time. It's been rearranged. Reappropriated, I guess. That time has been passing, and is passing, right now, that time when I get to reevaluate my personal time, my business time, leisure, danger, play, family, art, &tc...
Art. I miss it. I've got to get it back. There's a shortage of time. There's no shortage of ambition or materials. Friends. I miss them. There's no shortage of missing them. No shortage of desire to have time with them. Creativity. I miss it. Need for sustaining family and business requires so much attention that I'm focussing on fabrication solely, save some weekend nights for prototyping and mock-ups. My passion requires both fabrication and creativity. Cabinets alone are not enough. Furniture for the sake of making it is not enough. Creation alone is not enough. Fabrication alone makes me a mechanic. That isn't enough. The strange thing about having something to lose is, all those hours spent alone during the creative time aren't as rewarding. You see the conundrum? I want to be home now too. And that takes from all the things I just mentioned. Alone time in my studio used to be all there was, and it was all I needed. Or so I thought. And was how I spent 10 selfish years. But I wasn't very happy then with that alone. I still miss the solitary hours rich with epiphany, the excitement of gambling with executing moves on a project. Decisions I put off for far too long, and finding out success or failure after the fact. Art is exciting. Creation is exciting. Investing into a piece and then making a potentially catastrophic choice is life for me. My last big project was my house. I designed it improvisationally for over a year and a half and it is undeniably me. Live-edge jacket-cut walnut swings hanging from the ceiling. No furniture unless it's my own that I'm storing for ultimate sale. French doors hung horizontally so that every window makes a wall open up with a bar top on both sides. Everything is a built in. Everywhere I look I see trash that has been turned into art and that art into a dwelling. There are solutions everywhere. It works. And it is so ––– so perfect for me. Now that it's evolved and grown, I face handing it off because it's not big enough for a family. Which means investing anew into something which will take the same amount of energy and focus and dedication. And with that, I identify myself again. That my work is only complete when in process. And I'm only whole and sated while identifying development in creation. That is when I'm most complete. When I'm most whole. I'm most honest when confronted with that which challenges my talent in direction and furthers my education and overall breadth of ability. I'm in debt to many — owing thanks to my community for drafting my perception and keeping me and my developing family well. I'm thankful for the work, my shop, materials, tools, influence, camaraderie, and above all, the ability to pursue fulfilling a life rich with potential to offer beauty, leadership in quality, and benefitting the relationships I care for and have a great deal of loyalty to.
Thank you, family, friends, clients and all other positive influences. You are greatly valued.