Struggle; that is the long and the  short of it. The keynote to the work. It is labor intensive. It becomes my life. Afterwards I am as quiet as a storm that has passed. I reflect in the wake. I am often ill after a show. I note my crash and burn work style that occasionally articulates my need for rest by shutting my body down, respects a gig. The show do go on. Perhaps if I keep a coming date I could live like Dorian Gray; reliant on the art for continued life.

It is a struggle. It is about struggle. The struggle is both metaphor and literal; emblematic and lived reality. It is my essence enacted. I am my art. My art is struggle. I am struggle personified in life and art. The art comes forth from struggle as I struggle to artfully deliver art that delivers.  It’s also about learning how to win, how to ascend, how to fly. It is my battleground; my defining moment. Its how I hone my chops, the way I prove to me who I am, and how I cut my teeth to sharpen into fangs. It is the effort of my struggle which brings the food to the table. I struggle to ensure it feeds us all.

I struggle not to stand in my own way. I struggle with my own growth and its omnivorous greed. I struggle to stay open yet move forward. I struggle to come new while remember who I was meant to become. I struggle to continue. I struggle to make it look effortless as I struggle to build on it; to best it; to enjoy it. I struggle to remember not to be afraid to fail while I struggle to insure I succeed. I struggle not to be afraid of success. I struggle to see me as I am in the moment and as I stretch to be more than I am. I struggle to remember that growth can feel like suffering but suffering brings growth. I struggle to remember it’s always about growth. I struggle to remember.

It’s been a good year for me as an artist. I struggle to accept and appreciate that in a less than stellar year for the world. I am moved by sorrow so as we weep; I write it down. I am a somber voice at a fools party. I wish there was more to laugh about. I applaud those who make me smile. My humor is found lurking in dark irony. I wish for more laughter and less irony but my art is composed of what is.

Gem was an amazing experience. It opened something in me that will is still difficult to articulate. I am more grounded. I am sharper. I have grown. I have been wounded by Wilson and something is growing in the cut. Art should bruise, inspire, provoke, affirm, pose questions and soothe. Gem has done all that and Wilson is offering me more. I accept.

Time for Adisa and Jackmon’s work to round off the years lessons. 10 days to the ESSA gig.  Time to go to work.