On Time

Creativity is a drug I cannot live without.
— Cecil B. DeMille

I'm not that old.  By most standards, I'm very young.  Yet, I find myself standing still, reexamining my life and wondering where time has gone in the past 3 years since finishing up college.  What happened to the plans I had for my big post-collegiate life?  Well, those plans were actually kind of shitty.  Turns out painting rooms wasn't as fun as I expected, even with the chance that I could help create props.  Oh, and I wasn't ok in that apartment in the valley, even if it was a little cheaper than a place on LA's east side.  Apparently 3 years has made me old and jaded.  

However, even after looking into the past, it's hard to really see anything as a failure.  I honestly can't even remember what the original plan was when I moved out here, or even what I thought it was in general for after college.  I used to think I was someone who had to have plans, had to stick to them, and fell into that group of people that was rigid, focused, driven, and idealistic.  Maybe I still am to a degree, but I've also realized I'm more flexible than that.  I've had to change, adapt, and force myself to be uncomfortable in the unknown, at times as self-directed growth, but primarily as self-preservation.  The same is true when working creatively, whether it be art or something more practical.  Maybe this is part of making your life a work or art; having the flexibility and courage to live your process.

Shibori is a lot like this.  It begins with a plan, an idea of what it will become.  Pressure and resistance is added.  Time.  Immersion in the unknown.  Once the vestiges of the past are removed, what is left is more beautiful (or at least more interesting) than originally planned, and wears memories of the process, permanently changed by it.