i am an artist.

one of the most difficult, but freeing things i have ever had to say.
admitting the idea that i need to create to live, to function,
to be a contributing member in this thing called life,
to admit that,
is in a sense giving myself over to the art,
over to the idea that the art controls me,
rather than me controlling the art.



but in doing so,
it also frees me to be fully present. fully alive IN the creation,
fully believing in the art, for the sake of art.

i have yet to determine if this discovery is a blessing or a curse.
maybe it is both.

if it is true, and it is, that life imitates art,
then, is being an artist really living?
and is really living where we really want to be?

because being fully alive,
fully awake to the idea,
it scares the hell out of me.

admitting this,
it reminds me of sticking your toe in a cold lake
to test the water before you jump in.
the moment your toe hits the water, it sends a shiver all the way up your spine,
and your skin tingles with anticipation,
waiting for more...
for the next step.
for the plunge.

and you jump.
knowing that when you hit the water,
the shock is going to take your breath away,
but to not jump would be, in a way,
cheating yourself out of something bigger than you.

the part that gets me?

as you come up, gasping for air,
so cold you can barely swim,
why is it that you always have a smile on your face?

is it possible,
that this experience, this plunge, this discomfort,
is what really living is all about?