William Blake wrote that if a person had a fixed point of view or never developed new thoughts, their brain would begin operating as if it had been for too long standing in stale waters and it would begin to breed 'reptiles of the mind'.
I have been feeling rather stuck lately, and have found it hard to tap into my feelings, especially when it comes to engaging with the people I'm meant to love. I find myself not knowing what to say, realising it is my body that is talking, finding internal sensations churning me around, including a heart beating too quickly or irregularly, my chest feels tight, I'm breathing more quickly than normal and my stomach is clenched, all signs that there are powerful feelings swirling about, but I struggle to find words to name them. I also seek reassurance by seeking physical contact, when touch is probably the last thing someone else wants to give. I retreat into my comfort zone of drawing and making; I lose myself in image making and try to visualise these feelings but to what purpose, I'm not sure. As I draw I can begin to calm my inner churn, but then, out of the recesses of my subconscious, creatures emerge, these are I presume what Blake meant by 'reptiles of the mind'. So should I or shouldn't I let them free?
I've also begun a process of scanning in some of my sketchbooks in order to support my role as a researcher. As most of my thinking takes place on the drawn page, it seemed to make sense to make them available as part of the research process.
I have now scanned in two of them and have annotated them, so that my thinking process is more transparent and available to others, but now when I look at them, I begin to wonder if I have a thinking process, perhaps these images are simply traces of a troubled mind.
The sketchbooks
An observational drawing sketchbook
An ideas development and tap into the subconscious sketchbook
In the ideas development sketchbook are several 'reptiles of the mind', and I worry that they are a sign of an inability to deal with a proper emotional life, being products of a state of 'stuckness', rather than a record of the imaginative interrogation of an interior life.
So much of art making is maintaining a confidence that what you are doing is worthwhile, and lately my levels of anxiety have been rising to a point where doubts are starting to creep in and I'm questioning what it's all about.
Perhaps it's just autumn settling in with its associated melancholia.
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