My work has been slowly creeping from my work room table to the kitchen table. It seems that when I hit a period of creative blankness I feel that if I have more workspace it will prove that I'm working and trying. Maybe I believe that a new room will bring new vigor into my work (it hasn't). I also seem to feel during these periods of blankness that maybe if I try every idea I've ever thought of or heard of that eventually something will materialize out of the chaos and present itself to me as worthwhile. Currently this desperate (frustrated) grasping at straws means I'm cultivating several types of salt crystals in the kitchen, trying to grow moss on different surfaces and materials outside, attempting to sculpt with silicone caulk, and am avoiding clay in a manner I would typically reserve for vegetables. I seem to think that if I continue to push boundaries in every direction I know that eventually I will have a breakthrough and finally begin making work that is good. There is a fear in the thought that maybe you are only an artist in the act of creation and every moment you are not creating is a moment that you are not an artist. Yet in the frantic scramble to make something good I wonder if I miss the things that could be the impulse of my next work.