The tidal sway of my creative process instills a rhythm that I feel in my bones and know quite intimately. For me, the creative process is akin to the tidal rhythm of the sea. It has power and grace and movement in its cyclical dance.

It goes out way beyond my line of sight — spilling off into some other far-off place. While it is gone, I yearn for it and worry about its return. I question if it is still out there, far beyond the boundary between vapor and sea. But it always comes back. It always has and I hope it always will.

When it is time, I can see its heft rising in the distance. I can hear its rumblings in music that I listen to, when paintings start to form behind closed lids — building their sinew and musculature in a way that can be felt and articulated in my body. Waiting but almost ready. I can feel the immense swell and crash on a rocky beach, as the energy behind it collides into the present and that’s when it overtakes everything. Blissfully and drunkenly and powerfully. When it is here, it works in a glorious flood and a riot. It is a friend of mine… this process, this faceless entity, this well of immense energy. Whatever it is, it sits with me for a span of time until I am done with a body of work and when I am tired and have made everything I need to make, it goes back out, on its mysterious journey to the abyssal hinterlands.

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