In a perfect world, such going away would not be necessary. We'd see things afresh without having to take a vacation from this too-embedded knowledge of them. But the human condition tends to blind us sometimes, dulling our senses, pulling a misty veil across our eyes, so that things we see daily are seen only through a glass, darkly. We lose the ability to notice nuance, to perceive change, to discover that which remains alive and turning before our jaded eyes.
Such is the feeling I get when returning home, to Maryland, or what is called "the DC metro area." It's a bustling place, frantic with traffic and high energy, or perhaps its just nail-biting nervousness that makes the place seem so electric. There is a sense of duplicity that accompanies a town rife with political deceit that often overshadows its foundation of democracy. Yet, even though the former often stifles the latter, whenever I return to my roots, I can still hear the steady heartbeat of the just and true, however faint.
In the same way that this returning can open one's eyes, a fresh look at almost anything -- one's occupation, one's surroundings, one's life -- can create an awareness of what is worthwhile, and what is not; what enriches the soul as opposed to that which drains it. If that fresh look is not forthcoming in the moment, then taking a break from the day-to-day, such as a visit to the beach, can offer this same clarifying space from the frenzy that tends to dominate my life.
I'd like to think that I can clear such a space internally, but more often than not, the external world dictates that sense of peace so that, usually, it takes removing myself from the noise to get down to serious introspection. If I carry that noise with me to the drawing table, I find the same effect: that is, I may need to walk away several times from a drawing before completing it. Not always -- but sometimes.
I've come to appreciate both sides of this same coin. The important part is listening: What direction is this piece taking? Has it collided with a wall at the moment? Is it time to step away, clear my head, and look at it another day with fresh eyes? It's not how it happens so much, but rather the integrity of its coming about: I can see it through best by listening to the ebb and flow of this art; and so, too, of this life.
