For four months I’ve been working full time in a non-art related job. A job so left brained and full of details, that I’m worried my abstract thinking will be usurped by Excel spreadsheets and Accounts Receivables and budgets and masses of emails. I miss my world of contemplation and deep thinking.
Today in the studio, I read this poem in my journal. Existing in two worlds, I feel like I belong to neither- that in-between place–like dusk. I’m hoping that, after March when the stress of my big project passes, I’ll be able to better reconcile my worlds. Right now the one that is “anxious and confining”–that dark strip at the bottom that in the end will have no meaning– has taken over.
Evening, by Rainer Maria Rilke
Slowly evening takes on the garments held for it by a line of ancient trees. You look, and the world recedes from you. Part of it moves heavenward, the rest falls away.
And you are left, belonging to neither fully, not quite so dark as the silent house, not quite so sure of eternity as that shining now in the night sky, a point of light.
You are left, for reasons you can’t explain, with a life that is anxious and huge, so that, at times confined, at times expanding, it becomes in you now stone, now star.