Burnout? Or maybe not doing enough?

Some days, today being one, making art is difficult. I put beads in a row to make a necklace, and I hate every necklace I try to make. Nothing looks right. Aquamarine beads don’t look right coupled with any other variety of bead. I’ve got blue, teal, yellow and red tiger eye beads. None look right with any other variety of bead.  Swarovski crystals don’t add anything to a collection of beads. Neither do pearls. I just bought sparkly black opals. Even though I have severe bling addiction and love sparkle, I can’t come up with a design in which to use them.

I’m stuck.

I’ve got a pattern for pajama bottoms laid out, but I don’t feel like cutting it out and sewing the pieces together. I’ve got a pair of slacks almost done, but I don’t feel like doing the final chore: inserting elastic. I need a pair of white slacks and I’ve got some white linen/cotton blend. I don’t feel like laying out a pattern.

I’ve started writing a second novel, but don’t feel like writing it. Maybe it’s because of how I’ll feel while I’m writing it. I don’t write fluff. I write my guts. My guts take a lot out of me. The novel is about the hell I went through working at the Public Defender Department – a hell that nearly killed me.

I want to blame this malaise on external events. Except external events aren’t the cause of my malaise. My painting teacher said my work is self-taught folk art. Um….doesn’t taking art classes take my work out of the self-taught category? Folk art? What the fecal matter is folk art? Anna Robertson Moses created folk art. I like to think my work is more refined than Moses’ work – which isn’t taken seriously. If Anna Robertson Moses’ work were taken seriously, she wouldn’t be known as Grandma Moses.

Maybe the subject matter of my current work contributes to the malaise. I’m doing another painting about mass shooting. Painting about antisemitism during Passover and on Holocaust Remembrance Day is a strange experience. I paint while thinking about hatred, oppression, slavery. The two landscapes I’m working on aren’t enough of an emotional break. Worse, a third mass shooting painting is working itself through my mind.

I take photographs of the spring blooms in my yard, but I hate the photos. There’s no magic in them. There’s nothing in the photos which grabs my attention.

I love yucca flowers. I don’t love the photos of yucca flowers I’m taking.

I don’t think the problem is my photos. My photos are technically good, but they don’t give me joy.

Why am I not happy about the crisp detail in this photo?

Why am I not pleased with the playfulness of this composition? I can’t even imagine turning this into a fabric design – and I love designing fabric.

I’m stuck. How do I get unstuck?

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman