Especially affected lately on my second progress through The Artist’s Way by Julie Cameron, with miserable knowledge and insight into myself as an artist.

Referring to Nietzsche, she says, there is no Creativity without Suffering.

Expanding on this, later she states, Suffering and Soul come from the same root or experience.

The longer I live–and also keep trying to understand the place of art for me as a child–the more this idea seems to give some meaning to it. How I was told, over and over again, that art was something nice for children to do to keep busy. Even an adult could have an art hobby if she must. But art was nothing for adults to take seriously. Adults had serious work to do that denied art any place in their life.

  • All 3 people from my family as a child–Mother, Father,Younger Brother–committed Suicide in later life. Now I alone am left to witness these 3 decisions. And to make meaning out of them for myself.

My story is, I waited until age 50, after developing a chronic condition that ended my professional life, to take up art anew. As something besides an occasional class during my evening hours.

In the absence of pressing work, I finally felt free to take up art seriously. Ever more seriously until it became the core of my day and of my identity. A serious artist somebody called me the other day. In responding, I had no doubt this is true. Making Art has become the whole reason behind all I do or whatever choices I get to make.

When I added up the fact of those 3 suicides, I felt faced with deciding: to choose life. For me that was the life of an artist. For me that is what is real,

-bringing my individual truth in the moment,

to what I discover about the individual truth in a subject,

whether a human model or

the noisy crow outside my window.   [ω]