Ripening, not reckoning.

So now we have entered a time when my working hours have decreased, and my homework and study hours have increased exponentially. 

Surprisingly enough, I am now putting in more hours than ever and simultaneously loving it because of how exciting this animation course is for me.  It is fueling a beautiful fire in my belly. 

I can see myself exploring the merging of so many veins of interest that I have pursued over the course of my life... 

I remember being 4 years old and rendering my first painting of a robin — sitting there with my paintbrush in hand at pre-school and reflecting on the natural world around me.  I thought to myself, "But why have they asked us to paint a round robin? Robins are not round," wanting to properly honor and reflect what I had learned so far.

A couple of years later I created my first flip book animation to honor the object of my affection at that time, a blooming and decaying rose.  The handmade illustration included a rising and setting sun and moon in the background, followed by the rose throughout the animated day.  Since these early days, I have spent many years honing my art and design skill sets but with no concrete direction in mind, sans my declared profession at fifth grade graduation: 

"When I grow up, I am going to be an Environmental Architect." 
I don't know if my parents have ever felt so proud as in that moment.

Now, in 2017, there seems to be a strange merging and coalescence of these acquired skill sets:
of my college studies of illustration and painting, color, design and metalworking,
of natural cycles and patterns, of textures, our solar system and cosmic networks...
and now my new path of studying digital motion design and animation!

I feel convergence on the horizon, but I must not rush the flow. 

“There is here no measuring with time, no year matters and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without the fear that after them may come no summer. It does come. But it comes only to the patient, who are there as though eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly still and wide. I learn it daily, learn it with pain to which I am grateful: patience is everything!”

― Rainer Maria RilkeLetters to a Young Poet

I hope to heed these nourishing lines from Rilke and be gentle with myself in the process of growth.

xx,
Liz

Liz Fisher