Over the past few weeks I’ve been trying to stretch my brain a little bit, to let new ideas flow in, to wander down different avenues. It’s relatively easy, once you find the ‘thing’ that works for you, to stay within the safety of that thing, producing facsimiles of the same idea or style repeatedly.
I remember being told once that the only thing worse than imitating others is imitating yourself. I’m not really sure about the veracity of that little aphorism, and it’s also kinda hard to distinguish self-imitation from plain straight consistency. Sometimes I can tell; sometimes I know I’m just reproducing an idea and I don’t feel any kind of way about it. Other times I feel that kinda high bright buzz that tells me I’m working on a piece that means something, at least to me.
But whether it’s self-propagation or just sticking to style, I guess the sentiment is something about not being a hack.
So lately my pages have been about trying to stretch and grow and till new soil within that ‘thing’ that works for me. It also feels like it’s a preparation for those few weeks over Christmas when I’ll go home to my heartland and all those drawing synapses will recharge, reconnect and resurge. When I’ll sit on my parents verandah in the humid heat and tap my bare feet on the familiar concrete and drink beers at midday and watch for the afternoon storms and listen to the young hawks fighting and draw for madness, freedom, fun… which always brings the best out of anything.