Once again, I find my self at the Kon Tiki Inn in Pismo Beach. Alone by choice. I’ve always needed “alone” time, ever since I was a little girl.
When I come here, the larger question is not “What am I doing here?” It’s more like, “What am I doing?” I find that answer often by letting my mind go free-form, not thinking about anything in particular but knowing the larger question. Since I retired a little over two years ago, I’ve been redefining myself as an artist. I stumbled onto a new form of photo collage and have produced a rather large body of work considering I started after our trip to China in May of 2007. Photos I took of Chinese lanterns started the whole venture.
I love what I’m doing. But the corollary arises, it’s not enough just to do art – because I have to sell art. To sell art I have to engage in self-promotion, which is an uncomfortable activity. I blogged about it earlier this year in a post which I cannot presently find. It’s like they are disappearing on me. But the point is blogging.
I’m blogging and my readership is building. I get about 500 new readers a month which I suppose is pretty good for a new blog. That is, if I understand what “unique visitors” are. To what end? I suppose that’s one of the things that has to muddle around in my head. Because I would guess it’s about building a brand and ultimately selling photos – but no one’s buying. Not that I expected them to – there’s a bazillion excellent photos for sale online, and basically, people can take good photos themselves. Or good enough photos.
I’m writing articles on eZines, posting articles on eHow, and participating more in art life of the community. All these things are fun, but I’m not kidding myself – I don’t expect to be famous or a guru about anything. I would like to make some money. And of course, I’ve fallen into the venture least likely to make money – art. So how long do I continue? How much do I blog? Are my blogs worthwhile? And that brings me partly to Pismo.
So here’s what I do at the beach all by myself.
I watch the endless lines of pelicans fly to and fro, never tiring of the patterns they form, always wondering how they know who takes the lead and why they are going anywhere in particular. I can watch them without noticing time passing.
I watch the ocean. It lulls me into a trace almost. The waves form such intricate patterns and always change, even though they never stop.
I look at patterns. I walk up and down the beach looking at the larger view, but especially interested in the smaller view. The patterns of water, sand and wind are endlessly fascinating.
During all this, I know my mind is working on the problem at hand on deep background.
I look at the light and take pictures directly into the light. I watch the sparkles on the sand and waves and the play of light and dark.
I look at the sand. Today, it was very windy and it blew the sand into ripples. It doesn’t usually look like this.
I notice how the water contours the sand differently in different parts of the beach.
I can watch all this for hours, not noticing the time pass. In fact, I can sit on the balcony with the newspaper or a book, and never quite open them to read.
This is the view from the balcony. I go to the hot tub several times a day also and from the tub, I watch the ocean.
I marvel at how the entire big beach can be mine and mine alone.
I look for the details. Even in a big, empty beach, there are little treasures. It’s like the desert in that regard.
I take pictures of myself because my camera confuses other people when I ask them to take a picture of me.
I look at how the waves seem to stack up head on.
You get the idea. I spend hours noticing small things and letting my mind go off on its own. And it does. Where it leads, I’m not sure, but I hope I will emerge on Friday with some idea of how I should continue, if I should continue with this blogging business.
And now I’m going to watch the sunset from the hot tub, come back and eat buffalo mozarella, crackers, proscuitto and nibbles in my room, and watch So You Think You Can Dance.
