One day this week, someone asked me “What do you do strictly for pleasure?”
It surprised me to realize that I didn’t have an answer. I’d never considered it.
There is always a purpose or expected outcome, a reason for whatever I choose to do.
Making art, I am lost for a time in the process. Those moments are pleasurable, but they fade and pleasure wasn’t the purpose of the activity. Making art is a need as much, perhaps more, than a desire. It is key to my well-being.
Even those moments of absorption in the act, (moments that are, truly, beyond pleasure) are short- lived. I start thinking about how I could approach the project differently, how I could make it better; consider whether it is actually good enough, or worth pursuing. The critical, analytical voice returns. I need that voice to push myself, to improve the work, to perfect it.
And so, I defend the critic within myself.
But, the question of pleasure returns.
Am I even capable of making something for the fun of it? To make something just because I liked the idea and wanted to express it?
If not, why?
Isn’t it enough to do something just for fun?
Whose expectations am I trying to meet?
Who would I disappoint?
I find myself revisiting the question, every day, several times a day.
What do I do that is just for pleasure?
What do you do?