So, yesterday was my first blogiversary. I was overwhelmed with my offline life and couldn't find time to write to say thank you. I began this blog as a means to keep relatives informed of our goings on. In retrospect, not much time passed before this space became an expression of a facet of my truest self.
The true self can never be hidden fully in an artistic pursuit of any kind. I may think I am in control, choosing to share only the pretty bits, the perfect work, the least amount of identifiable information as possible. This thinking is folly. Everything I write, photograph, create, and share is a mirror image of the most sincere, imperfect, incomplete, humble parts of me. As I relish the trace of a potter's fingerprint in an otherwise perfect bowl or the sound of a guitarist's fingernails on the strings, you take time to read, encourage, and know me. I could go on like this all night and never make full sense of what I am trying to say, but I think Robert Frost comes close to describing my feelings about blogging:
The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom... in a clarification of life - not necessarily a great clarification, such as sects and cults are founded on, but in a momentary stay against confusion.