spicy
I am realising lately that it matters to me a lot more that my work and creative expression feel embodied, rather than how ‘intellectual’ it all is.
It matters to me a lot more that my work moves someone because they can feel that chili-infused-hot-honey flavour of vitality pulsating in it, they can taste and sense that womanly, moonly juice that can only be tasted in work that was created from beyond just my intellect.
I love it when both of us - me as creator in process, them as beholder in outcome - can simply, illogically and fully feel how a certain stream of expression came from my body, my heart, my womb and my spirit, apart from my mind.
I love it when the primal and the intellectual in our lives are intertwined like serpent lovers.
This liberating self discovery is also making me tenderly hold the maiden part of myself that sometimes felt obliged to perform and posture a forced intellectuality in anything I shared with the world. One of my paws was stuck in that rigid trap of ‘I’m supposed to sound like this’ intellectualism - I used to think that only that would make me loved, lovable, and respectable.
It’s beautiful, the writing and art and food and poetry and romance that gushes forth from your hands when you start caring a little more about feeling and being felt than you care about seeming the ‘right kind’ of smart.
(The right kind of smart. I have been suspicious for quite some time now, btw, that that doesn’t exist).
Fresh from the kiln - my first wave platter, designed for cheese and wine. My friends say it looks like a masala papad. I have embraced this.
