I actually can be very creative when i’m depressed–i care less about the outcome which means i experiment more, i care less what other people think and that makes it more powerful for me. The flow comes but it’s more difficult to make the start, to take that step off the edge even when you know what the landing area looks like. I share fewer of the results –i’m sure not a lot of it would be understood either visually or emotionally.
This grey morning i realized that’s why i’m having a difficult time moving from the sampling and sketchbook to making an actual commitment to Real Work. It’s easier on the vasty head to make the little marks in the sludge, than to swoop up a pile and carve it into something substantial.
Knowing my personal levels of energy and thought patterns through the phase where the black dogs howl is part of managing depression though. Oh yeah, you have a few days where you allow yourself to wallow, but in the end, the mudpit can be ripe with ideas. I will not allow myself to give up the bones growled over, the dogs can go to hell. I need a big ass ol’ archaeological screen and i’m going to filter out the bare bones, the gristly ones, the few that have flesh left and build a new something. I’m not at the point in this vicious disease, of climbing in with them and staying there.
Making new piles, trying some new dyeing, still scratching the workbooks, keep on keeping on.