Something is in the air these past few days. There have been mistakes made, some serious, some less so. I was up and about, participating in mundane life and working with my hands to help folks. I cooked dinner for friends, assembled a garden shed for my sister-in-law. I carried some things back and forth and I am planning a last few fruits/vegetables to preserve for the coming winter. I visited a friend in another town, attended the virtual remembrance service for my mother. I cleaned house and finalized a plan for moderate renovations. I put new tires on the car and realized how dirty the car became from the running around I did. It needs me to wash it. Maybe it is dirt that’s in the air? I say something is in the air because all of the above usually get put on the shelf for another time and music/writing/talking on Facebook are front and centre. I also say something is in the air because the air is vibrating with error.
I have not been writing or concentrating on my music. Usually, that is not so much different from week to week. I never practice enough. I avoid rehearsal of my choral pieces, I leave piano for ‘later in the day’. When I do manage to sit down at the keyboards (various types) and things don’t go the way I hope, I get bored. I get up. I go do something else. One habit I have kept is I do write something most days. I am not brilliant and I know it to be so. I need the practice. Still, to tell myself the truth – I rarely attack art seriously. Maybe this next week it will be work, work, work? I don’t think so.
Whether writing at all is a thing I should do or whether being a musician is a worthy exercise have been questions for some time. I have had friends tell me it would be best that I not do these things. Yet, like a serial art murderer I keep returning to the scene of my crimes. I keep wandering back in to the muse’ library room. Since I was about 12 or 13, I have periodically worked on writing projects of various descriptions. I always end by setting them down to go do other things, like work for a living. I do keep being drawn to creative arts, though. It is that I haven’t dared make art my life or my work. I don’t find the self discipline for a dedication to these things. I am too easily distracted. Maybe I am a milk-wagon horse without blinders?
At times, I think it best that I not agonize about ‘Pursuing’ art but just relax and allow it to flow as it flows. I’m not an artist. Not really. I don’t do the work, the due diligence. I do what I feel and don’t take art seriously. It’s a good thing I have no schedule, no deadlines, no contracts to honour. If that were true, I would give Truman Capote a run for his title as champion procrastinator. I have no expectation of receiving a cheque and truly don’t need one, there is enough money to pay the rent. I don’t need to worry about a red or lost face event, there are no famous writer or singer friends/contemporaries/no spouse to be embarrassed before. I do enjoy the company of magnificently talented folk but they don’t judge me. Only one has ever let on but I know they don’t take me seriously. Partly, I try to just be quiet and partly, they humour me. I don’t even have grandchildren explaining to their friends about how charming the unpolished poems and songs are. “Oh, that’s my foolish old Granddad amusing himself and boring the crap out of me.” Margaret Atwood has a country home nearby but the likelihood of her bumping into me for a possible critique of my work is remote. The teacher who viciously attacked my intellect and the brother who harshly criticized my level of education are both far away, distant now. They will not likely consider or judge me anymore. Those doors are closed. I have nothing to hold me back.
I talk to Facebook, since I don’t have an art audience other than or outside of my cyber friends to perform for. In all my awareness of the true value of my art, one thing stands. I need the audience. This is a serious problem. Needing an audience and finding one on Facebook, I get into trouble with a misunderstood or too-overt phrase periodically. I am trying to keep away from the fray. I have been trying to free myself for the last six years or so that I have been on Facebook. It won’t be possible, I fear.
In the last six years, I ticked off my remaining aunts with my raw humour. They did not understand at all. I provoked a sermon of judgement regarding my opinion of digital audio from a cousin. He ended the rant-in-answer-to-my-rant by reminding me that HE has an education in these matters, I do not. In the last few days (something in the air days) I have again run aground with my determined speech. I ticked off a cousin and dished a new in-law. All of this was in the open air market, for the consumption of all and algorithm. That, along with other events has piqued the ire of my distant brother, who adamantly chastised me through a third party. Ha. He didn’t speak to me, face to Facebook. It’s likely that he will not speak to me ever again. Oooops. I am human, being human is pretty expensive. There is something in the air.
Robert On The Air 