Storms......

.....Across Indiana last evening, some of them quite severe. I had no internet to do a post at that time; even if I had I think I would have been cowering with the birds and occasionally popping out to see the weather radar.

I was dumbstruck by how dependant I have become on this machine for almost everything. Communication, weather (well, in our part of the country, weather is a biggie....), planning of all sorts. My inability to access all my correspondence sent me into a fit that was most unfit and disgusting for those who had to be around me.

The worst of it is, as I was thinking about it all was how do you change--technology changes US. Either we keep up or we are lost in our world. We become Luddites by chance or by choice. Change is inevitable, but is it all good?

I recalled how each morning, even on the coldest days of Winter, I would take my first cup of coffee out on the porch and watch the sunrise, hear the birds, smell the fresh air. It was a ritual I loved dearly; it was relaxing and a wonderful way to start the day. Even when I worked part time or full time (elsewhere), I would try to get up early enough to allow myself those moments of quiet with nature. That sense that the goodness of the whole universe is surrounding me and readying me for the day ahead.

Now each morning I sit at the computer dealing with various e-mail; some personal, some commercial, some business of my own. Coffee to my left hand, I start the day before this glowing electric god who has taken over a good portion of my life.

My art lives in it, my notes, my photos, my collections of ephemera that would otherwise be cumbersome to keep. My photo records and various appraisals of work reside in the Studio file. It has allowed me great strides connecting with other artists; I have made friends I would have never had the opportunity to make and it has gotten my artwork into far flung venues.

BUT.

At what cost?

While the title of this post refers in essence to the *real* storms that passed through here, I feel the amount of my life sucked into this machine has caused storms of it's own. I wonder; How do other artists feel? Do they, too, feel they have to fight to keep their soul their own--that they are not forced to be at the demands and whims of a piece of machinery? Is this the same in each age, except with something else that is new and different? Am I, indeed, a Luddite for wishing my time back and the simplicity of how my life used to be? (okay---reality check Anne---your life was never *simple*, just not as spastic as it is now) Is the world I recall a pleasant dream? Living life by the turn of the seasons, the smell of the thawing earth in the air as I stood wrapped in heavy robes upon my back steps, enjoying the warmth of coffee and the visuals of heavy steam and fleeting birds? Turning the soil to plant, watching daily as small seeds---little wonders---struggled and popped through the earth with me tending them carefully?

I have no answers---they are musings. They are the rambling thoughts of one who wishes for a bit more calm in all aspects of life, and yet I know that this thing, this machine, will remain as a part of my everyday existence. My storms will continue, the ability to juggle too much and still come out smiling.

Have I become the ghost in the machine?

To all who work in this medium, I wish you the peace and wisdom and ability to separate yourselves when you must, and not go through the infantile withdrawal I experienced yesterday.

The quality of our lives should not be determined by the number of strokes upon a keyboard.

Have a creative, beautiful, storm-free day!