fourth year annette aguilar

There’s something far away that calls my name. I can’t seem to remember what it looks like. I can’t even remember what it feels like either. It just lingers with me. The sensation that I have left something behind. As the years go by, this sensation grows. It’s frightening. I don’t want to feel like I’m abandoning it. I hate leaving things behind. I want to keep it with me, tucked away under my bed, or in my pockets. The sound of my name lingers. I listen… but I can’t make out what else it says.

I think it’s telling me to go make art.

But I can’t. I haven’t been able to for a long time. It’s like I’m stuck in the same place. Not really the same place. Life goes on. Days still pass. It’s already the end of February. Winter will soon become spring. And yet, I haven’t made anything. My hands still haven’t moved to the sound of my name being called. I can’t seem to move towards it. Towards creation. I’m stuck.

I hear how it echoes, at a distance. It blends with the wind on a rainy day. It’s mute on days where there is sun. Subtle yet there. I have distanced myself from it, both intentionally and unintentionally. I haven’t created something meaningful in a very long time. The oil paints I bought a year ago are still in their packaging. Unused. The wine stained sketchbook I hid at the bottom of my bookshelf is still sitting there. Unopened. The word document with all of me is still displayed on my desktop. Unwanted. All my mediums for creation. Ignored. I just hear the calling from a distance.

This something, calling from far away, waits for me. It doesn’t abandon anyone. I’ve seen others find it in between bushes surrounding their home. Or in sunlight reflecting on the eye’s of someone they love– even in the shadows that chase. It’s always there. Waiting. I feel better knowing that no matter how long I take, it will still grab my hand.

That’s the thing about art. It’s always there, even if at a distance. It lets us have space when we need it and it comes to us when the time is right. I know that despite it’s calling, it’s waiting patiently. It sends out a gentle reminder that it’s still there. It’s all in my head. I let it frighten me when it shouldn’t. I know it will never leave, so I also must reciprocate.

I will come back when it’s time. When I feel like holding a brush again. Or when I feel enough to write what I am. Art is waiting. And, I will keep it with me always. I will make art and love it, even if it’s bad art or good art. Up close I will hold the hand of creation.

And, even at a distance, I will know it’s with me.

At a Distance