I am tempted to go out fabric shopping today.
I have a flyer with a ton of coupons. It seems like an OK thing to do, a pleasant or even happy affair, after all I am an artist that has been working primarily in fabric for the past 4 or 5 years. It's tools of the trade, necessary stuff.
Here is the problem.
I have a glorious stash! Not just bits and pieces but... yards and great grand chunks of lovely lovely fabrics. I look at them and love them. I see the potential in them, the animals and objects that will surely emerge when I take them into my hands. It is the same way that paint and pencils have always hummed for me with the need for use.
There must be enough in my tiny space for hundreds of creations.
I have curated my collection over the last few years building it up with yardsale finds, cast offs, donations, fine quilting fabrics, and splurges on gorgeous designers.
(Hello trip to Mood in NYC anyone!)
I can really say that I have some great stuff.
So why then the need to hit the store?
I have decided that it is just another form of
procrastination.
A pleasant diversion to keep me from working.
There is nothing out there that I don't have here
EXCEPT
that going out there keeps me from being here.
If I go to the store things will most certainly cry out to me.
I will feel the rush of creative thought, that I guess is kind of like a drug for me.
I love the way that potential feels,
how quickly the ideas and uses come to me there,
but like any good high... it wears off
and then there it is at home in my studio consigned to a shelf
while I rush off to see what else strikes me fancy.
Well, I am going to call my own bluff.
I am challenging myself to make do with what is here for the next few weeks,
which is kind of laugh because what I have here is pretty darn nice.
Let's see what happens.
