Today I would not have made art. If I did not have a critique tomorrow, I would not have gone into the woods, done a sculpture, photographed it.
My dog kept me up most of the night, needing to go outside, his stomach tender, and on our last outing, at 4:40 am, he chased a skunk and got sprayed. He stinks, the house stinks. I have no hydrogen peroxide to mix with baking soda and dish soap. My arm is sore, where he yanked the leash out of my hand in pursuit. It is 4:55 am. I am exhausted. I want to cry. I wipe him down with apple cider vinegar, open the windows wide. He is drooling everywhere, my socks are wet.
If I did not have a crit tomorrow, I would stay in my pyjamas, eat ice cream for breakfast, crawl back into bed for the afternoon. I would say fuck it, check out, put aside my art, again. Watch episodes of Art 21 and see all the things I could have done. Or watch season 3 of Transparent and forget that I even make art.
But I have a crit, and it is leading me deeper into my practice.