The simple pleasure of coming downstairs after a yawn and a morning stretch to a clean kitchen ready for my daily caffeinating, is something that's taken years to perfect. And no one's perfect. There are parties, there are fights, there are romances. Sometimes I'm sick, too. There are numerous excuses to leave the dishes for tomorrow, let it pile up, until I feel I can't do anything unless I do all of it in it's entirety.
My original plans for last night were to finish dinner and go up to work on more of my art. I looked at the clock and thought "Oh, it's only 9:46, it's still early." That was a deception. I thought of the time it would take to set up, procrastinate, look at my phone, respond to emails, look at my inspiration, get out my sketchbook, draw a couple lines, erase them, and so forth. It would be midnight before I got anything substantial done, and I wanted to get up early, right?
I'm thinking this as I watch the digital clock on my oven go from 9:46 to 9:47. Shit, it's basically ten o'clock. What would happen if I just went to bed after cleaning this kitchen?
This. This is what would happen. I would get up early, yawn, stretch, check my phone, pet my cat, open the blinds, let the sun in on this wonderfully bright and clear winter Portland day (early spring thanks to CO2 emissions), turn on my desk lamp in the studio, and come downstairs to a clean and organized kitchen ready for my coffee making.
I suddenly feel like that 2 hour investment of doing a pile of dishes, cleaning the counters, picking up the mini-bar (which turns into a catch-all for oils, cups, bags of spices, coffee, and yerba mate) has suddenly come back to me in the form of inspiration this morning. Which is why I decided to have my first blog be an exploration into something extremely mundane. The mundaneity and personal accomplishment of a small ritual compounded and then expounded into a kind of piston-like karma combustion engine. Karmbustion. You can't use that.
The application of a small ritual, a small nuance i've been meaning to do that ultimately makes me angry that it isn't magically done already, has come back to me in the form of inspiration, and time and space.
It takes doing.
The whole thing isn't done, it doesn't have to be. That's not really the point, because there is no end.
I've been applying this practice to my own artistic practice. Small nibbles here and there. A sketch, a quick doodle. Or a full layer of ink. One more layer of ink and I'm done. It becomes like a puzzle. And one large piece came in as I connected the borders of my artmaking rituals with my lifestyle ritual, and now the whole picture is starting to come together.