An earlier blog entry draft simply disappeared. And perhaps that is best. When something doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel like it fits, it’s time to step back, walk away.

I am, in the beginning of this year, more unsure of where to step lightly next that I find myself wavering, on a single foot, balancing over a cascade of water. The irony is that I spent the better part of December 2009 planning. Yeap, in deep contrast to my first endeavor into the art world, I made a conscious decision to plan out 2010. There were goals attached to this planning, there were ideas, there were yellow pad sheets of paper filled with scribbles and brilliant ideas.

And yet I find myself, two weeks into 2010, staring at all that planning and ideas like they are alien foreigners. And that’s when it hits me: something doesn’t feel right. Not all the planning is off base, and not all the planning is recyclable material. Some really great thoughts arose out of those early December mornings when I found myself alone in a quiet living room, breathing in my own existence and being exhilarated by it, while others in the house slept.

I had plans for this blog. But there were a wrong fit, fulfilled the wrong purpose, pushed me to be, and write, in a manner that is, well, incomprehensible. I’ve stepped back in the last week, let this white screen sit idle, while earlier drafts teased me as to what I “should” be doing.

In the late nights that have transpired in that week, I have concretely hit upon what does feel right. Art is an experience. It transports me, and the viewer, into an event or moment or place. And while the final piece does the transporting, it is the creating itself that is the ultimate experience. In those finite seconds when I find myself staring at a work in progress, pastel pencil in hand, and have thoughts like “a convoluted conversation of tangents…veins of prior conversations,” those are the experiences that I wish to share in this blog, along with the final pieces of art themselves and some new ideas.

After writing down some more scribbles and thoughts (this time on a quad ruled notebook), after looking at several pages of notes and bubbles and arrows leading everywhere, I found myself looking at three simple words: Art, Activities, Myself. That is what I want to write about.

It may not get me the 1,000,000 readership that is so highly promoted and preached about. It may not get me the 100 readership. But it will feel right. I am a writer of convoluted conversations, tinged and tainted by veins of prior conversations and experiences. I am an artist that finds herself at an extreme crossroads of life (of which I have been at many times). If social media is to be about relationships, about being and sharing who you really are, then this is me. Long winded at times, strange and incomprehensible at others, naive and childish way too often, and attempting to be grown up most of the time.

Pia