In my imagination, of which I have a lot, I thought I had it planned.
I thought I would go to work every weekday, come home, and without young children to look after, just float down to my drawing room in a non tired way and draw madly into the night. I knew it would be hard work and busy, but do-able, simply because it had to be done.
Life is not at all like that.
There is shopping, dinner, wine therapy and people to look at, including husbands, hospitals, death and illness to deal with, driving , dog walking, cat feeding, minute typing, staring, phone calls and House of cards watching to be done. Plus more I’m sure.
Book number three will get done, it is actually looking better than it did, Ms Whelan. I have appreciated art making as a therapeutic tool so much more because of the lack of available time and the pressure of ‘real’ work. I sometimes didn’t see illustrating that way, because it can cause me great internal hardship and glumness.
I have been illustrating at home for four years now and I know it is just the pendulum swing of going back to the necessary regular wage paying work, although temporary, but I found my feelings leading up to the whole job application process as grief, because of the inability of illustration work , or my lack of business talent to hone in on money making ideas, to be enough to live on. Why can’t something that I work so hard on for so long be worth something? This applies to all the creatives of the world I know, andI’m sad for you all. Let’s rebel or something.
I have been offered a 2 day a week job starting soon, and I’m excited at the thought of having a regular ticking over small wage, plus time to get back to my people, and think. It’s the thought space necessary for creativity I miss, and the world of illustrators and authors that I know are carrying on without me.