In updating this journey, five months later, i revisited the previous entry about the toll taken on a body that works in fields requiring repetitive physical motion. I make no attempt here to actually compare my work to that of the "strawberry picker, an assembly line worker and the factory seamstress" except to say that, when hammering, i get a glimpse of what they must feel and, i honor their efforts. In fact, glaring differences exist:
i am an artist by choice.
i am working at home, 14 blocks from the pacific ocean.
i work in fresh, cool air, under the shade of a tree.
i am doing this out of emotional and historical necessity, not an economic one.
10 steps away is a refrigerator with cold water any time i want it.
15 steps away is my choice of 2 bathrooms, clean and available, any time i need it.
i can listen to music that inspires me while i work.
i can rest when i want to or when i need to.
i can see my kids thriving after school at 2:30p, when i put the hammer down to go pick them up.
i have privilege and choice here. those who work tirelessly in the least popular occupations often have little or none of these options. it felt important to take a moment to acknowledge these differences.
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