What if art is what I do when I'm not doing what I do? Meaning, what if my whole life doesn't revolve around my identity and success (or lack thereof) as an artist? What if I were to paint merely for the joy of painting... I think I forgot what that felt like.

I put a lot of pressure on myself. I have always held myself to high expectations. It was only a matter of time before I crumbled. That was my last entry, that heavy realization that I was torturing myself. You cannot force greatness. It either happens or it doesn't. I was reaching for something that was invisible.

I gave myself a much needed break. I said I wasn't going to paint again until I wanted to paint, with no expectations, no pressure, but only from the drive of wanting to manifest a thought on canvas or paper or panel. The air began to clear, the sun burst through the dark clouds, and eventually I came home from work and decided to paint.

An image that has been in my mind for a few days. Blossoming cherry trees against a serene blue sky, and snow on the ground. It doesn't make sense at all. That's why the image stayed with me, and its why I had to paint it.

My hand has been bothering me again. Today at the gym I couldn't finish my second set of plank pushups (I know, I'm hardcore) because the pressure was too much on my hand. So when I came home and felt the urge to paint, I didn't know how long I would last. I think maybe an hour until it became unbearable. That's shitty, to finally feel that creative flow, only to have to quit before letting it all out. Its like having sex without coming. Feels good, but you have to stop before you've 'finished.'

Hah, what an analogy. But so true.

Here's to the hope that I can pick up again where I left off with that project, and that my hatred for art dissipates before it has the chance to consume me any more than it has already.