I am someone who is perennially excited about things.
My friends are used to it. I can’t wait to tell them how I am on the verge of something great - every other day.
I use excitement as my North Star.
If I feel excited and sped up - an inner agitation seeking expression - I move toward it, even if I don’t yet understand why.
A simple message from someone saying they know someone who would like my sculpture and may be interested in buying it.
So exciting to me.
I must really want to sell my sculptures.
A partner for releasing a new line of in-home products.
So exciting to me.
I must really like the idea of working with this person and want to do this project.
A plan for an adventure with friends or a trip with my family.
So exciting to me.
I must really like my friends and want to explore with my family.
More meetings for a project that may not result in paid work.
Not so exciting to me.
I notice that I have a high requirement for excitement from the people I create with.
If I am working with someone creatively and they don’t seem excited about it, I begin to pull back too.
That’s not what I am here for.
My process lives in a utopian landscape where everyone loves each other, wants to work together, and can feel the magic arising.
I don’t want it contaminated by neutrality, or indifference, or blah.
We can all have a bad day, but if it doesn’t feel like the project is giving them energy, I would rather we not do it.
It is never anyone’s fault. There is always a good reason why a project gives someone energy, or why it doesn’t. I rarely know what that reason is. All I know is that my excitement meter is flat when I interact with them. They aren’t feeling it, even if I am. Or I’m not feeling it. Regardless, it isn’t ‘happening’.
Art projects are a privilege to engage in. They are God’s food. If this one isn’t delicious to you, don’t eat. We all need our daily bread, but for me, survival alone is not enough of a reason to make art.
When my art becomes daily bread - too repetitive, too predictable - it doesn’t work. When it is always changing, always in flux, always something I don’t fully know how to do until I get into it: it works. This keeps me nimble. It keeps my brain young.
I want to do projects that are both practical and magical. Practical enough to take form in the world and support the people bringing them to life. Magical enough to give energy to everyone making them. When either one is missing, the work doesn’t work.