Guess it's been awhile

I'd pretty much forgotton about doing a blog. I wasn't really attached to the whole idea, it just seemed to be something that is good for me, like getting enough fibre. I do become more inspired when I see the work of others, though, alive to the possibilities of what this could be. Yesterday I asked someone in my art group if I could look at his blog, and that's what I've been doing. Sometimes I just feel really inadaquate when I see what other people have been doing and I really struggle to let inspiration win out over that. The only other alternative is switch yourself off, curl up in a ball and refuse to do anything. I suppose that's why I'm taking a drawing class, because I got so pissed off at people saying they couldn't write/draw/knit/sew/whatever. What does that mean, exactly? They don't like doing it? They don't know how? They do it poorly? Or do they just think they do it badly because someone else does it better?

I "can't" draw. I thought people who drew started at a very young age, drew everything, enjoyed it, did it well. I decided to learn to draw, thinking I could at least develop some skills that would be useful in coming up with inspiration and planning my quilts, knits, etc. even if I didn't produce drawings that were great masterpieces on their own. Fortunately, I have mostly given up the idea that everything I do has to be great in order to have value.

I kind of looked at some drawing books, but didn't really get much out of it. Classes are a much better way to learn things when I'm starting out, but again, I struggle with inspiration vs. inadequacy. Besides, I lack discipline. It's like a birth defect. I've tried to develop discipline, but I don't have the discipline to do that. Arggggh! It was never a problem for me in school--I can follow structure created and monitored by others.

Okay, my mind is starting to ping around, so I'll have to thing things out before I write more about discipline.


Yesterday I finished reading Three Day Road by Joseph Boyden, which I found out about during the Canada Reads debate. A wonderful book, but it was poorly defended and others rejected it because they didn't want to include depressing books, trying to break away from the stereotype of Canadian literature.

I thought to book was fantastic. A few very predictable bits, and two stories of WWI trench warfare and natives in Ontario struggling to prevent having thier culture stripped from them by the whites were woven together in a way that there were little joys that kept the weight of either from being too oppressive.

Wonder what I will read next. It's strange that I don't have several books on the go at once. I'm a little sad at this, but it does make things easier.