Saturday, March 18, 2017
My whole life is wishing I had four interrupted hours to do interesting things. I don’t think it has ever happened. I think I slept for four hours once. The truth about life, mine anyway, is that life is a series of interruptions. I give credit to those who have learned things like 3D virtual sculpting or animation; things I’ve been interested in but have never spent more than ten minutes at a time on.
Do I have ADHD? Well, I’m not sure it’s “a thing”, but if it is, then, yeah, I think so.
Anyway, what little art I get to do is done one minute at a time during the work day. I’ve rarely ever spent more than one minute making a piece of art from head to hand to paper. (I love when I get to take it from paper to wood to paint: that hour in the sun is fantastic; they say when you love the boring parts of a job, then that’s your job.) And I’ve spent thousands of isolated minutes drawing to get where I could spend one minute and make a drawing that wasn’t garbage. (Often while drawing on garbage.) I learned to play music (the little I have learned) by playing it for three minutes at a time, hundreds of times.
Most of my life now is waiting to be alone so I can do what the world, forgetting to give me anything like talent, put me here to do.