You do it, I know you do it. I do it too--we all do. Every once in a blue moon at least (if not daily since the election), you've got to wring your sponge, your sad sponge, and get that sad out. The tricky part is not knowing when your tear trigger is going to get fingered.
I was blessed with some unexpected lessons about what it means to be an artist. I learned how to be vulnerable, how to ask for help, and how to expand my, once tiny, circle of trust. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so surprised at the reactions of perfect strangers to what was once a wild pipe dream---and the way that dream, once invited, waltzed into reality like the ghost of Fred Astaire. As an artist, I've come to accept that pipe dreams are the blueprint from which we build our wares.
On a dusty old shelf, in the basement of my late grandfather's house, a row of Photo Booth snap shots of my grandmother lay face-down. The expression on her face, especially in one of the shots, is haunting. The photos were taken shortly following their split and she was dressed to the nines. A questioning, a longing, an aching heart shines shattered behind her eyes.
This old photo was the first inspiration for the music video. What began simply enough, catapulted me into the project of a lifetime.