Master or Dabbler?

I spent most of yesterday in our basement sorting through and either discarding or packing up arts and craft materials and equipment collected over the last 16 years.  I found paints of all types -- watercolors, acrylics, fabric dyes -- mostly dried up and worthless now.  I put them in a separate pile to be taken to the toxic waste distribution center and cringed to think how much money I wasted while trying to discover my creative calling.

While sorting through various boxes stored in the three closets in the big cellar workroom, I found my old screens for printing on textiles, a batik pot thick with dried up wax, hundreds of paint brushes, buckets and tubs and plastic bags and old yogurt containers, latex gloves, a mask to wear when working with toxic materials, drop cloths and old sheets spattered with various art mediums.

I found scrapbooking supplies and rubber stamps, Japanese papers and old magazines I'd intended to use for collages, paste paper constructions and mixed media wallhangings.  In one bin I happened upon a tiny set of watercolors.  The box could fit in the palm of my hand and, when opened, there was contained within, two rows of miniature tubs, each tub holding a tiny block of watercolor.  I bought the set for travel overseas with high hopes of plein air painting.  I assured myself that I'd find the time to paint the castles and cottages of Wales and England.  But once there I captured my travels with a camera instead of brushes, and the set remained unused in my suitcase.  It is still as new and as unused as it was the day I bought it.

When I finally gave up my creative detours and U-turns, the names Julia Cameron calls the various paths and endeavors we take when attempting to avoid our true calling, I stored all the art supplies I'd collected and pretty much forgot about them until now.

I made the decision to focus on one creative outlet only.  Writing.  I didn't want to feel so scattered anymore, and I'd been writing more or less since childhood.  It was the practice that I was most drawn to and the one I was most afraid of doing badly.  Still, I told myself it was time to master one craft, not dabble in many.

But perhaps I wasn't as committed as I assured myself that I was.  Perhaps I wasn't entirely ready to actually rid myself of all other options.  Even now, after six years of focusing on the act of creative writing almost exclusively, I can't quite bring myself to give away all of my arts and craft materials and equipment.

As box after box is stacked, awaiting the arrival of Moving Day, it is clear to both myself and my husband that I am not ready to turn my back completely on other creative possibilities.  With a fresh start in another state, hope once again springs eternal.  Perhaps -- once there -- I will find time to do it all?