My muse has abandoned me because because I did not pay her enough attentions. I can’t focus on scupture when I have everything else going on right now here. I am only able to read books – easy popular autobiographies. I’ve reading Life, by Keith Richards. Before that, Decoded, by Jay-Z, and Chronicles Vol. 1, by Bob Dylan. Each of them makes a special mention about Winter. For Dylan, his eternal memory of his early days in New York is made in Winter, cold and snow. How so many of his album covers show him in a Winter coat? Jay-Z says the same about his days as a hustler, standing on a corner in the wind and cold, doing business, uses that image in his lyrics. And Keith Richards tells about the London winter when the Stones first formed, trying to stay warm in small apts, learning the Bluesman’s craft.
Winter should be a time of inspiration which comes from within yourself. You defend against the external world. Identify what you have, useful, to do. Working in the context and materials you have. The external cannot bring you anything now. You are on your own. At last.