Today, my Monday in lieu, we went to Miyajima so I could take pictures that would help me with an illustration project I am working on.
I love Miyajima, feel very much at home there on that little sacred rock crowded with tourists and gods.
I recently realized this, which should be obvious but like most obvious things in this world, took me forever to comprehend: that my focus on Japan in my art and writing has nothing to do with Japan but with my focus on my life, which just happens to be lived here in Japan. Wherever I live is where I focus my attention on.
I am in that part of the cycle where I only want to write and draw and go swimming. I feel something is missing, during these phases, so sometimes I buy cigarettes to smoke on the sly down by the river, watching cars race over the bridge and meteorites fly across the black sky. Smoking satisfies that itch until the days pass and the pang eases.
I take all the longing and channel it into my writing, into my paintings, my zines, my jewelry; everything I make is just a way of draining the emotions so they do not fester and poison my life. It is important to keep your hands busy.
Now I must think of dinner, of washing uniforms and meeting with my son’s juku teacher. And then I will choose which pictures will be transformed with paint and brush and love into a form that can be shipped and hung, allowing everyone to see Japan, my life, as I do.