I didn’t realize I’d written a lot here. I thought this blog was small, like the poetry and stories I write. Then I noticed that one of the old posts was getting a bit of attention. I went back to read it, and realized I’d forgotten it. It was full of ideas. Ideas for poetry, hidden ideas, ideas pointed out, spelled out. I like that old post.
When I was in undergrad, I asked the poet who facilitated our senior writing seminar if there would ever come a time when we could read over the things we wrote in years past and not squirm at their inadequacy. She said that this would depend on each of us.
Reading that old post, and liking it (well it’s only a month or so old, but anyway), I think I may have evolved a little as an artist. I think I understand a little that an artist is never the same artist twice. With every new piece, every new word, every new comma, we build upon who we are and what we do. There is no use in obsessing over how we would never write it the same now. We wrote it that way then, that is how it felt right and true. Truth and art, both are gray areas.