I like making books by hand, but I'm no good at it. I lack co-ordination. Or whatever you call it. When someone explains to me, "This is how you do the binding," I nod like I understand, but I haven't a clue. It's like math class after the teacher has gone through an algebraic formula. The same lack of comprehension.
I'm talking about creating art journals, not actually writing books -- though I've always wanted to do that, too, and failed. Not failed, but never started. "Your eyes are bigger than your stomach," my mom used to say when I helped myself to food I couldn't finish. My ideas are bigger than my ability to execute them. I took an Art Journal class once from my friend Christina. While other people did the assignments, I filled up page after page with red paint and then tore out the pages.
I'm too in love with the details to see the big picture. That helped when I made my Tarot deck. It was simple: just do one card at a time, then go on to the next. Besides, the Tarot was an established system that I could work with. But to come up with a concept of my own? That's different. Maybe that's why I like to blog. The details of my day unfold into small individual essays, unrelated to each other except in their relentless progression.
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