Lately I have been evaluating the amount of effort I place on various activities in my life. Painting, drawing, writing, knitting, reading, and so on. There is a notion that is often discussed in the art studio about need, about whether one needs to be in the studio, or needs to be making a certain kind of work. For a time I felt obligated by my surroundings to produce a certain kind of work, but I now see that something was lacking in that effort. What was lacking was not exactly need, but something closer to love. I did not love the work I was creating, I did not love myself for making it, and I was not making it for someone I loved. I was making work for the wrong people, and communicating the wrong things with the wrong audience.
Love is something that is worth a lot of effort. Fatigue and exhaustion should not and do not matter when the work is done for love. Time is never lost, but always well-spent, when it reinforces one's bond of love with another person. It took me a long time to realize it, but when I paint it is often not with love in mind. When I painted narratives I did not love the image. I loved the story, but it was not the story I was painting. When I create portraits, I love the people I am drawing or painting. When I create still-lives, I love the objects I am drawing or painting. When I knit something for my friend, I love the person I am creating for, and I put that love in the object I'm creating. When I'm working without love, I can stop whenever I want. With love, it doesn't matter how long it takes, or how weary it makes me, because I don't stop until I'm done.
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