Perhaps blogging is an art form. If so, that is why it seems to allude me. I am a very frustrated artist/crafter/decorative artist/writer/poet. You name it and I have some interest in it, but can't do it. From the time I was able to critique myself, I haven't liked the art that I've produced. I see these beautiful things in my head and for one reason or another I am not able to reproduce them. My attempts are often left unfinished or put in the trash. I'm always lacking in some thing: time, materials, skill, or ability. Then frequently, even when I do have those things, the image flits away from me like a butterfly. It's always just out of reach and the more I pursue it the harder it is to catch.
Lately, I've been feeling the pain of this more acutely. Is it aging? Is it being a busy mother? Is it just an extension of my general feeling of dissatisfaction? I don't know, but it hurts more now than ever. If I do get the time, will I be satisfied with the results? I can only hope to have the chance to find out.
