A Poet's Life


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Invisible presence…

I attend events.  I take photos.  People smiling.  People hugging.  People interacting on every level.  I think it’s funny when the question often arises, „were you there?“  It really does make me smile.  The best part of being behind the lens is having a sense of anonymity while watching people connect.  I see things others don’t.  I’m more there than you think.

Now on to something a bit more profound and eye opening.

I spent some time with my mentor this past weekend.  Whenever I feel like I’m hitting the bottom, he’s the one person that can make me see things I don’t look for and brings me back up.  In this case, I shared with Ned that I have had this overwhelming feeling of failure as an artist.  I have so many things I want to accomplish.  What really began to tear me down is the realization that I’ve been on the bottom end of „working“ with others, only to be forgotten when things pop.  I know that most artists are very self-serving people and the world they most thrive in is their own personal universe.  I have mine and I love being there…the problem is I let so many others in and the inevitable happens.  I am robbed, and not blindly, I willingly give of my creative self, I share what’s in that wonderful, scary place inside my mind that takes me away from the daily grind.

I have an entire journal full of creative ideas that I feel are so amazing and so, „Mona.“  I like the idea of sharing them with other artists in the event something takes off.  I’m all about helping my fellow artists on this journey we take together.  The problem is, more often than not, people grab the idea and run with it.  When it becomes successful, I’m actually happy about it.  What does stab at me a bit is when I don’t get an ounce of recognition for my part in it.  I’m not a glory hound.  I don’t need a pat on the back.  What it does mean to me is that they don’t care enough to try and help me up the ladder that they just climbed over my back.

Has it really come to the point that I have to close the covers of my book and covet my ideas like some miserly Scrooge because human nature has gone so far south?

That is all.

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