“The moment you accept what troubles you’ve been given, the door will open.”
I’ve written these words from Rumi in pencil on my studio wall.
The thin scribbled lines run along the window edge, where I stare. I look into the graphite sky for answers on how to move forward with my art and life. It stares back, quiet and cold.
I wonder if it’s easier to not be an artist. To give up on work that demands so much time, money and energy. Work that struggles to find a place in a world freezing over with fear.
I’ll never know.
For even if I decided to let my brushes dry out, like winter branches, it would not change anything inside me. I would still feel the same pull to create. I would be staring at the winter sky wondering why I was ignoring the pull. It would be as if I was forever waiting for spring.
That is the trouble with being an artist. It’s always who you are on the inside. It doesn’t matter if you refuse to pick up the brush. The trouble then becomes, why don’t you? You can never really get away from being an artist.
I’m not wise like Rumi.
I only know to keep painting, because doors will never open without art.