In real life, I’m a happily married woman, blessed to be in a fairy tale relationship with my husband of 18 years. But when it comes to my art, I’m a bit of a trollop. I jump from piece to piece like a lustful temptress on the prowl, always searching for the one who can fuel me with those amazing “falling in love” endorphins. For me, working on each new piece is like starting out with a brand new beau. I find myself constantly tending to the ‘relationship’ with pencil and paint, clinging to him like a jealous lover.
When my work just isn’t ‘working,’ I am frustrated. Like a woman scorned, I am ready to end the relationship and deposit my significant other in the nearest recycling bin. My heart is heavy and my mood is sour. I avoid my studio, and specifically, my art.
When a piece is going well, it becomes an insatiable lover, consuming my thoughts, time, and attention. I find myself drawn to his unrelenting demands while basic needs like eating and sleeping are tossed aside with disregard. Engrossed and exhausted, I toil away until we are both completely satisfied.
When my work is finally completed, I sulk like a broken-hearted teenager who is certain that no other can ever compare to her last love. I sift through ideas like they’re potential boyfriends until I come upon one that peaks my interest. Could this be the next great love of my life? Only time will tell. As far as my art is concerned, it seems my relationship status is destined to remain “It’s Complicated.”