artistic growth
to make a living, like most artists, i have needed a "day job". for me, though, it has been more than that. i have been trying/failing to run two careers simultaenously. first it was software engineer and artist. that combination didn't work. overtime and stress took over my life and like kudzu strangled art.
then it became nursing and art. and what realm of nursing did i gravitate to: first oncology and then ICU nursing. once again: stress. and with my graduate school on top of fulltime work - it is virtual overtime (without pay).
at times this makes me sad. once again art is made to be the red-headed step child.
but look at what else i am doing. i am giving chai tea to the relatives of the dying and being present, quietly explaining the process of death and it's own grace: like a flower curling into itself.
it seems to me that this intense human experience in nursing isn't really robbing me of art time. there are these transcendent moments of peace and unity. when i take the pulse of patient, my gloved fingers lightly touching his wrist below the arch of the thumb; the patient is sedated with our medications, colored like milk, dripping through the IV lines, and at that moment of touch: i connect to my sleeping patient as a human being.
perhaps the lines between art and other things is arbitrary. the silent vigil at a patient's bedside and my quiet meditation at my studio bench both stem from the same deep place in my soul. and these years that the number of works of art is virtually nil are not empty - the fields are fallow. but because of nursing my soul is growing. i sculpt with my soul.
then it became nursing and art. and what realm of nursing did i gravitate to: first oncology and then ICU nursing. once again: stress. and with my graduate school on top of fulltime work - it is virtual overtime (without pay).
at times this makes me sad. once again art is made to be the red-headed step child.
but look at what else i am doing. i am giving chai tea to the relatives of the dying and being present, quietly explaining the process of death and it's own grace: like a flower curling into itself.
it seems to me that this intense human experience in nursing isn't really robbing me of art time. there are these transcendent moments of peace and unity. when i take the pulse of patient, my gloved fingers lightly touching his wrist below the arch of the thumb; the patient is sedated with our medications, colored like milk, dripping through the IV lines, and at that moment of touch: i connect to my sleeping patient as a human being.
perhaps the lines between art and other things is arbitrary. the silent vigil at a patient's bedside and my quiet meditation at my studio bench both stem from the same deep place in my soul. and these years that the number of works of art is virtually nil are not empty - the fields are fallow. but because of nursing my soul is growing. i sculpt with my soul.
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