Miscellaneous Mental Musings of an Emerging Artist
No man is an island, so I imagine myself as an entire civilized planet, a personal and uncharted mosaic of rock and water, and set out searching.
This is what I’ve decided, after all this time. I’ve decided that there is no writer’s block, that this perception of the circumstance was always false, that what I thought was a wall was instead the exact opposite. It was not the cruelty of obstacles but the conundrum of too much open space.
Everything I could ever hope to write before breath finally leaves my body exists somewhere in the chaotic terrain of my planet. Everything is alive in a solitary cabin on a desolate mountain, riding a lilac Vespa through the streets of some imaginary Italy, hoisting the mainsail in the middle of a still blue ocean. Everything is on tour, or on the run, or suffering from psychic fugue amid unfamiliar skyscrapers.
And so I no longer view my process in terms of on and off, but lost and found, in terms of geo-synchronicity. The act of my writing will be the attempt to appear in the same place at the same time as the current location of an idea, to have in my possession at that time the proper equipment to confront and commiserate. I will be my cartographer, my seismologist; I will read my plate tectonics, prepare for impending earthquakes and the rearrangement of continents, and then hunt my unwritten thoughts anew.
I will be vast, and what was once intimidating will be inspiring.