How many metaphors do we creative types have for those times of feeling blocked, repressed, empty or otherwise unable or unwilling to create?
I chose no picture for several days, and the one I drew from the box today seems quite fitting: a humble wooden chair in a small room, red desk, messy papers and bookshelves. Even what I think might be a crumpled white paper on the floor.
Ill in body and mind, I have not been present in that chair. Grey of thought, I have not looked through that window. Sick with shame and inertia, I have not even climbed the steps to that room.
Today chance brought out this photo (as, it must be admitted, my sole creative effort for the day since I am still not doing too well) and I am taking a moment to look at it.
No poem appears, nor am I feeling a jolt of energy that I will use for another essay or poem.
I am not transported into the room. I am not yet able to reach it–but the room is still there.
The chair is empty, but it is waiting for me.