I stay home every day with my son. I also work from home, though who has time with a 15 month old to chase down and pull off of high pieces of furniture?
As I watch his imagination begin to grow and expand I find myself longing for just a fraction of what he possesses even as he is forming his. The wonder with which he studies the wheels of a toy car, or the first time he pushes that car and makes a sound, or the way he gazes intently at the pages of a book he is pretending to read, make me long for the days when I could fully believe I was on a spaceship headed for distant galaxies or that if I touched the floor, I really would burn up in an instant from the lava that covered every square inch of carpet. It slips away without us even knowing it…
I’ve worked in creative fields my entire life. I even majored in “pretending” in college receiving a Bachelor’s degree in Acting/Directing, and even with training, that full buy in to the given circumstances elude me compared to my son. It makes me wonder how and when it all went away? Is it possible to get any portion of it back? How can I ensure that Kieran gets as long as possible to explore the places his mind will take him? I was lucky… I had parents that encouraged the play that led me on those incredible imaginary journeys, and I certainly intend to do the same as a parent, but I want more. I want to make roads in the dirt for MY cars with Kieran, and I want to be engaged in that world from dawn to dusk. I want the call to come in fo dinner to be the same disappointment that it was when I was 8.
I seek this in my life… I know that I will never attain the same level of suspension of disbelief, but perhaps I can access the suspension of time and space and invest fully in the creative projects I take on as an artist… This, I believe must be the thing that separates good art from pedestrian art.
This is what I see in the work of Andy Goldsworthyor William Kentridge. This is how Pina Bausch worked with her dancers or Mishel Gondry makes a movie.
This is how a street artsist like Banksy maintains his inspiration, or music like that of Hauschka’s continues to be new no matter how many times you listen to it. I long for this in my work. I long to find my true voice, and to live in it fully as if the lava will destroy me if I don’t.