When Things Go Terribly Wrong

I try to be fairly consistent when it comes to transferring my art files from my computer to CDs, but sometimes when I'm especially busy I can let the files pile up and up until there are literally hundreds of works that need to be saved and kept safe. I have files of artwork in progress, text, photos I have taken that I either have used or plan to use in my work, completed pieces that have had their final photos taken, even vague ideas that might never reach germination but are kept nonetheless just in case. And it doesn't take very long for things to get pretty ugly in here and before I know it, I'm looking at several hours or more worth of work to make sure all these files, folders and cyber bits & bobs end up exactly where they belong in my filing system. You'd think that being anal as hell would help, and while it does with the finished file system, the getting there can be hell because I simply have so much stuff that I deem essential to my art and won't discard for anything that the transferring of these things can become a very long and torturous process.

And when the works are finally transferred to the appropriate CD and filed under the proper heading, I always, always, always take that disk and take a good long look at everything that I have just put on it to be sure that every photo, every word, every sketch is not compromised but is working and available to be used again. And then, and only then are those files deleted from my computer (which always sends a shiver down my spine- if it weren't for the fact that my computer wouldn't have enough juice to even turn itself on without the occasional deletion of a massive number of files, trust me, I would never, ever delete a thing, just to be on the safe side).

So how on earth did an entire file of trees I have photographed, altered, painted and doted on go missing in its entirety? I have no idea. I remember copying the folder those works were in onto the CD. And I clearly, without a shred of doubt remember putting that disk back into the drive and opening each and every file to be sure those pieces were there and workable. I even remember thinking as I perused the now-transferred pictures, that one particular photograph was perfect for a piece I have been struggling with for weeks. I labeled the CD, I filed the CD, I deleted the original files from my computer secure in the knowledge that my work was now safe in a filing cabinet where it could slumber till needed. Then a few weeks later I decided to pull that disk and open that photograph of that specific tree only to find that not a single file from that disk is anywhere on this planet anymore. And trust me, I looked. And looked. And looked. And then freaked out big time. Where the hell did that CD go? I even in a fit of desperation went through (and I kid you not) every CD I have that has anything even remotely related to trees on it. And then just to be sure, I randomly went through a few dozen more disks with subject matter that has nothing to do with the natural world at all on the off chance that I just might have accidentally transferred that work there by accident that afternoon. And then I went through them all again the next day just in case in my hysteria at having lost dozens of photos that I can never get back again, I might have somehow missed them on a disk, any disk, somewhere. But alas, they're gone for good. I still can't figure out how this could have happened given my regimented and highly psychotic way of making sure that this sort of thing never happens.

So today I went out and shot some photos of some of the trees I had photographed before. The particular photo I was looking for was shot on a very crisp, early winter day and while today was equally lovely with a bright sapphire blue sky, the light was not even remotely the same as those first pictures. Still, if there is a silver lining in this very dirty, shitty cloud, it would be that besides getting some beautiful and very workable shots this afternoon (including some that may even be superior to those taken many months ago), I will be sure to not only double check those CDs before deleting any work, but to triple and quadruple check myself until I am ready to drop. It's a terrible feeling when you realize that you have inadvertently thrown away months and months of work with the single tap of a key and that's one feeling of helplessness I'd rather not experience again.

Where Did All My Talent Go?

Well the rush had to end at some point, didn't it? After weeks of streamrollering through one collage after another and my mind being an endless wellspring of ideas, my imagination has dried up and with it my motivation. It was a good run while it lasted. Suddenly I not only have not a lick of ideas, save for those mediocre ones that I keep trying to make worthwhile to no avail, but I really have very little interest in even working on anything at all. It isn't that my current ideas are particularly bad, it's just that they all seem forced and artificial. I do have a piece that I was working on and which was coming along nicely prior to this creative crash and now I've become somehow physically uncoordinated and clumsy with it, so it has been safely tucked away from any damage I could do to it in my current state and will remain so until I'm back to my old self once more. I know these spells come with the territory of being an artist or a writer or anyone whose job is to create, but they still really suck when they happen. The best thing is to just let it be until the juices start to bubble again, but it's a real bummer while you're waiting to once more feel like yourself, especially when you're currently feeling all fuzzy and lazy and (nearly) completely disinterested in art. I say "nearly" because there are still embers of my creative self in here and they occasionally flair up and I think "this is a great idea" and I start to work on it, only to flounder and stumble over the details, abandon the piece and then ultimately give in to the inertia once again. And the self-doubt that can eat away at you during prolonged periods of block are the worst part of it. That nasty little depressive voice that worms its way insidiously into your psyche and tells you things like: "You have no talent anyways so who are you kidding?", and "All your work is nothing but crap so it doesn't matter if all you do is watch TV all day" and "what if this never ends and you never work again?" and the queen mum of them all "If you were a real artist you wouldn't have to struggle so much." And as awful as it is, I know there isn't a thing I can do to speed this along and bring it to an end, beyond not panicking and giving in to this block and all its ugliness. It's almost an organic thing with a life of its own that needs to run its rotten course until that part of my brain that makes art that's sometimes worth looking at and that frequently buzzes with images of what I'm going to create next wakes up and functions again fluidly and without hindrance.