‘Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.’” Goethe
My brothers went to Grammar school. When they got lines, ( a punishment of limited severity) they were forced to write one hundred times, ‘Punctuality is the pride of princes and procrastination is the thief of all time’. I loved the lyrical quality of the message and would hold it under my breath for decades. It’s still there, ready to be repeated at any opportunity. Anyway I have to admit to the terrible flaw that spreads like a fault line throughout the history of my life I do indeed procastinate. I alleviate the pain of that knowledge by the even more painful reality that the world does not care really. I don’t have the energy or the dedication that an artist needs to produce and produce and produce . To complete, throw away and start again. For every piece of art created there lies a detritus of discarded mush and the thing you need to be to be a really good artist is a thick skin. I think. I wouldn’t really know but I can hazard a guess that beneath every masterpiece is a river of tears; frustration, determination and perseverance having to win the battle fought out internally with doubt and reservations. So when I look upon a work of art, I remember that, and I am a little relieved that I am ordinary. There is a liberation in not holding genius by the hand, a beautiful , unsung delight in the quietitude of ordinary. I will always admire those that complete their service, the dedication to a pursuit, and thank goodness there are those who do; my life is that much richer for them. But Goethe was correct, and I lack the boldness, the genius and the power. I won’t stop taking photo’s though, and making all the pictures , putting words together; it is a compulsion of a woman with the privilege of time to do it .